


Find a Way to Stay

by RetroactiveCon



Series: Caught in the Storm [1]
Category: Smash (TV)
Genre: Kyle Bishop Lives, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 12:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21632752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RetroactiveCon/pseuds/RetroactiveCon
Summary: It was a text from Ana, simply reading ‘Kyle in accident, come quick,’ that had convinced Jimmy to leave the house. He hadn’t truly stopped being angry until he got to the hospital and saw Kyle lying there, pale as the sheets and absolutely still.
Relationships: Kyle Bishop/Jimmy Collins
Series: Caught in the Storm [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564042
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

Jimmy stares down at Kyle’s pale face. He hasn’t woken yet—Karen said he was in and out of consciousness for a while, before anyone was able to contact Jimmy, but he drifted off to sleep about an hour ago and hasn’t stirred since. Jimmy wants him to wake up so that he can shake him, scream at him, hug him and…

“Jimmy?” Julia knocks lightly on the doorframe. He doesn’t acknowledge her, but she enters anyway. “How is he?”

“How the fuck should I know?” Jimmy keeps his voice down, afraid of startling Kyle awake. Superstitiously, he fears it might harm his chances of recovery if he wakes up to Jimmy’s shouting. (Kyle hates yelling; he gets quiet and skittish and runs away if he can. Waking up dazed, drugged and hurt in the middle of a fight would be the worst thing for him right now.) “I wasn’t here. I should’ve been here with him as soon as they found him.”

He hadn’t been; he’d been camped out at Adam’s house, high out of his mind and resentful toward everyone involved with Hit List, including himself. He’d ignored the thirty-something calls from Karen and Derek, thinking they wanted him to clear out his dressing room or some other inane nonsense. It was a text from Ana, simply reading ‘Kyle in accident, come quick,’ that had convinced him to leave the house. He hadn’t truly stopped being angry until he got to the hospital and saw Kyle lying there, pale as the sheets and absolutely still. 

Julia approaches as though Jimmy might snap at her. He’s tempted, particularly when she smooths Kyle’s hair back from his forehead. “We all feel like that. It took so long for anyone to contact us—” 

“It’s not the same,” Jimmy snaps. He rubs a thumb over Kyle’s knuckles, a silent apology. To Jimmy’s relief, he sleeps on, his expression peaceful. “It’s always me and Kyle. Always. And then you stupid Broadway people come, and all of a sudden it’s not just us, and now he’s…” Tears spring to his eyes, prickly-hot, and his voice gives out. He can’t consider that Kyle might not wake, or that he might not be the same when he does. 

When he looks up, Julia’s expression is so gentle he has to look away again. “It’s nobody’s fault, Jimmy. No one could have predicted…”

“I should have!” Kyle makes a little hurt sound in his sleep. Jimmy gentles his voice, feeling like the most miserable kind of lowlife. “He was coming to see me. He wouldn’t have had to if I hadn’t left, if the show hadn’t…”

“Stop.” Julia lays a hand on his shoulder. He shrugs away from her. “There’s no ‘should have,’ Jimmy. There’s what happened and what we do going forward. And you can blame us all you want, but we’re here, no matter what happens. Kyle may need—”

“He’ll have me.” Jimmy squeezes Kyle’s hand. Since _Hit List_ took off, he’s often longed for the days before Karen Cartwright sauntered into his life. This is more than that; this is regret so deep it feels like a physical ache. He wants to go back to the way things were before, the two of them out to take on the world and not a soul who could come between them. 

“The doctors don’t know what’s going to happen,” Julia says. “He might need more help than you can give him.”

_Not good enough._ She doesn’t say it in so many words, but her meaning is clear. Jimmy has been selfish and shortsighted, and Kyle is paying the price. “I want to be alone with him.”

She tilts her head, her eyes kind. “If you need anything, I’m just a phone call away.” 

He doesn’t dignify her with a response. Only once her footsteps have receded down the hall does he speak again. “You know, they all love you. They hate me, but they love you. I could never work out how you do that.” 

Kyle gives no indication he hears. Nonetheless, Jimmy keeps talking. 

“You did it to me, too, right when we first met. God, you smiled at me and I couldn’t have hated you if I’d wanted to.” He’ll never forget their first meeting. By that point, he was so immersed in drugs that it felt like a massive black mark on his forehead—unmistakable and damning. Alone of anyone at that point in his life, Kyle had smiled at him and talked to him as though he mattered. “And there have been times that I’ve wanted to, but they never lasted.” 

Unbidden, the tears brim over. He clasps Kyle’s hand like a lifeline, brings it to his lips and holds it there to stifle his weeping. 

“Please be okay.” 

An indeterminate length of time passes in silence. Jimmy finds himself humming snatches of _Hit List_ songs—the earliest ones, not the ones written at Derek’s direction. He’s halfway into ‘The Love I Meant to Say’ before he realizes that he isn’t trying to fill the silence. He means every word—he did when he wrote it and he does now. 

His voice wavers on ‘sorry’ and shatters at ‘stay.’ A sleepy-slow voice finishes, “Stay…to hear the love I meant to say.”

“Kyle.” Jimmy scoots along the edge of the bed until he’s in a comfortable position to brush his fingers through Kyle’s hair. “You’re okay, you’re okay…what the hell were you thinking?”

Kyle makes a warm, sleepy sound that might be a laugh. “Everyone says I look out for you, but they never see this.” There’s such affection in his eyes that Jimmy wants to run. He forces himself not just to stay but to brush his fingertips over Kyle’s cheek. 

“Yeah, well, maybe if you were more careful, I wouldn’t have to do this. Did you ever think of that?” 

Kyle laughs again. “I was careful. I was…” His brow furrows. Some of the sleepy warmth leaves his eyes as he struggles to focus. “You left. And I…Jimmy, I’m sorry!” Both of his hands fly to his mouth. “I left your things with Adam, after everything you did to get away from him!”

Jimmy hushes him. “Hey, hey, I’m not angry. I was there, okay? I went back to him. You brought my things to me.” A thought strikes him. “You…weren’t coming to see me? You just left my things and…”

Kyle nods as though his heart is breaking. “Karen and Ana told me I had to cut you off or you would never learn to help yourself. I shouldn’t have listened. This is what I get for listening…”

Jimmy quashes a flash of fury. Once again, the two of them felt entitled to muck about in his and Kyle’s lives. “No. This isn’t punishment, Kyle, this is just dumb luck. Why the hell didn’t you look before you crossed the street?”

“I did.” Kyle’s eyes widen and he claps both hands to his mouth as though he’s trying to force the words back down his throat. Jimmy’s stomach lurches like he’s just missed a step going down a flight of stairs. 

“You stepped out in front of a car?” 

Kyle is spared having to answer by the arrival of a nurse. Jimmy leaps to his feet and demands, “Will he be okay or not?”

Kyle squeezes his hand. It’s clearly meant to be chiding, although the effect is somewhat ruined by how weak a squeeze it is. The nurse smiles gently and speaks to Kyle. “Well, the good news is that you only have a mild concussion. The doctors expect it will resolve on its own in a few days.” 

“What’s the bad news?” Jimmy demands. 

The nurse sighs. “There’s been damage to your pelvis and the lower portion of your spine. The bones will heal, but you might have permanent nerve damage. The doctors think you’ll still be able to walk, but it might be difficult. Later today, they want to run tests to make sure you still have sensation in your legs.” 

Jimmy drops back onto the edge of the bed as though he, not Kyle, sustained damage to his legs. Kyle lets out a little startled laugh. “No, I…I feel fine. I mean, I can feel pain, so…I’m fine, right?”

Jimmy doesn’t like the nurse’s expression, but she says, “If you can feel anything, that’s a good sign. The tests will tell us more.”

They stay silent while she takes some readings from various machines. Only after she leaves does Jimmy return to the unanswered question. “You stepped out in front of a car?”

Kyle picks at the blanket. “I’m on pain medication, don’t believe a word I say.” 

“That’s not an answer!” It’s more of an answer than Jimmy would care to admit. He knows how much stock to place in information given while high. In the last few months alone, he’s said enough things he didn’t mean to write at least three plays. 

“Yes, all right?” Kyle looks up at him, his expression somewhere between irritated and guilty. “I’m a shitty excuse for a playwright. The thing I love most in the world and I’m _terrible_ at it, what’s the use of me? And I’m an even worse friend, I turned my back on you when you needed me most and I thought if you didn’t need me anymore, nobody did, so…” He gestures to his blanketed legs. “And now this.”

“Kyle!” Words, as they so often do, elude Jimmy when he needs them most. This is his fault. He raged at Kyle for trying to protect the show and its star from his repeated mistakes, and Kyle took it to heart. 

“And hospital bills, we don’t need hospital bills.” Kyle nods once, decisively and mostly to himself. “I know I’ve seen you through a lot of fuck-ups, but at least they were relatively small. I wouldn’t be upset if you didn’t want to see this through.” 

“No!” Jimmy says, the vehemence of it startling even him. Kyle flinches as though Jimmy has struck him. “You’re right not to trust me to stay, but I will. This time, I will.” 

Kyle eyes him uncertainly, as he should. Jimmy makes extravagant promises and lets them fall by the wayside at the first opportunity, and each time he does he breaks Kyle’s heart a little more. Most of the time, he can tell himself it’s okay, but not this time. This was too close to ‘goodbye’ for him, and if preventing this from happening again means rewriting every aspect of his life, he’ll do it. 

Eventually, the doctor arrives. He brings with him the highly specialized equipment needed to test Kyle’s nerves. (Jimmy is being sarcastic: in this case, ‘highly specialized equipment’ means a needle that the doctor pokes multiple times into Kyle’s vulnerable bare legs to see if he can feel any pain.) The outcome is, according to the doctor, about the best they could have hoped for: he has reduced sensation and some loss of motor coordination, but he’ll be able to walk with help. Kyle takes the news with a grin the way he always does, but Jimmy sees the hurt in his eyes. The doctor wants him in physical therapy, but they can’t afford that and they know it. 

Kyle insists on checking out against medical advice as soon as the doctor leaves. Jimmy, for once, has to be the voice of reason. “You have a fractured pelvis and you might not be able to walk yet. I think you need to stay right here.” 

“If the treatment for a fractured pelvis is sitting around, I can do that just as well at home as I can here, and it will be much cheaper.” Kyle tries to swing his legs out of bed and lets out a hastily-stifled cry. Jimmy knocks him back into bed with a little more force than he means to. 

“If you’re that hell-bent on doing this, give me five minutes.”

Five minutes later, he returns, having commandeered a wheelchair from beside the front desk. With Jimmy’s help, Kyle is able to move from the bed to the wheelchair, and thus, they make their great escape. (They leave the wheelchair at the front door. Jimmy isn’t enough of a monster to steal a wheelchair from a hospital.) 

Only belatedly does Jimmy realize that the rest of the _Hit List_ crew, not to mention Kyle’s parents, might be concerned about where he is. He sends a sheepish text to Ana explaining what’s happened, trusting that she’ll relay the news to everyone else. Then he makes sure that Kyle is comfortable before leaving to obtain (in various semi-legal ways) a wheelchair, a cane, and rather a lot of pain medication.


	2. Chapter 2

Jimmy has never before appreciated how monumentally stubborn Kyle can be. They’ve had their fights, but Kyle usually gives in to keep the peace. Now that he feels like he has something to prove, he can’t be reasoned with. 

“Kyle, you broke your ass.” Jimmy tries for a laugh. Kyle does not laugh. “They’re going to understand that you can’t come to the theater for a little while.” 

“I have to be there.” Kyle struggles to get up. They’ve fashioned a donut seat out of a carefully-arranged blanket for Kyle to sit in while his fractured pelvis heals. It’s notoriously hard to get into and even harder to get out of, a fact for which Jimmy is immeasurably grateful. Were it not for that donut seat, Kyle would be halfway out the door by now. “Derek listens to me when he’s making changes, I can help keep it true to our vision…”

_“Hit List_ doesn’t matter!” Jimmy bursts out. Kyle jolts and stares at him, wide-eyed. _“Hit List_ never fucking mattered to me, okay? It was just some stupid songs I wrote—” _for you,_ he doesn’t add “—that turned into our big break and then broke us. You don’t owe Derek or Karen or any of them anything. You owe it to yourself to heal.”

Slowly, as though he’s testing an idea in his mind, Kyle shakes his head. _“Hit List_ meant everything to you. It’s our chance, and I’m not going to let…”

“You’re not going to let it ruin your chances of recovery.” Jimmy flops down beside him on the sofa, throwing an arm across Kyle’s waist so that he can’t get up. If he has to stay here and physically restrain Kyle from damaging himself any further, he will. (He’d planned to go beg Derek for his part back, but if Kyle needs him, screw the part. Sam Strickland can do whatever the fuck he wants with Jesse as long as Kyle is safe.) “I don’t have anywhere to be. I got fired, remember? So I will hold you down.” 

He hadn’t thought it possible for Kyle to look any more crestfallen. “I’m sorry about siding with Derek. I wanted what’s best for you, and I wanted to keep Karen safe, and it seemed like the best way to do that was…”

“You don’t have to explain.” In the cold, sober light of a new day, Jimmy can admit that Kyle made the right choice. He’d been so stung by Karen’s rejection of him that he’d unwittingly endangered both her and the show. “It was the right call.”

Kyle raises one eyebrow. On anyone else (Derek, for example) this might look imposing; on Kyle, it just makes him look lopsided. “Who are you and what have you done with the real Jimmy?”

“This is Sober Jimmy. He’s like Normal Jimmy, but better.” He gestures grandly at his own chest. In truth, he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to keep this up. He’s tried going cold turkey in the past, and each time is worse than the last. This time, the motivation to change is extreme, but he doesn’t know if it’ll last through the cravings that will hit within a few days’ time. 

“Oh, great.” Kyle flops back against the sofa. “So now you’re sober and I’m high on painkillers. What a wonderful plot twist.” 

“Gotta admit, I thought you’d be loopier.” Now that Kyle is no longer trying to escape, Jimmy could conceivably move his arm. That doesn’t mean he wants to. “You’re a fucking lightweight when we drink. I thought it’d translate.”

Kyle scoffs as he cuddles more closely against Jimmy’s side. A taunt about mixed signals rises to his lips. Before he can speak, Kyle murmurs, “I’m not loopy, just a little drowsy.” 

“Another reason you shouldn’t go to rehearsal.” Jimmy lowers his voice. By this point, he’s used to having Kyle fall asleep on him. Although he’d never admit it, he likes it. “Can you imagine how Derek would react if you fell asleep?” In truth, Jimmy suspects he’d let it go without too much comment. Not even the formidable Derek Wills is immune to Kyle’s sunshine sweetness, and if he were, the collective might of Karen and Ana would force him to be kind. 

“I wouldn’t fall asleep,” Kyle mumbles. Jimmy does a poor job stifling his laughter, which earns him a sleepy glare. “I wouldn’t. I have to…hmm…impress Derek.”

“You have to rest.” Jimmy is seized by the sudden urge to kiss the top of Kyle’s head. It wouldn’t take much, just the slightest turn of his head, but it would be all kinds of inappropriate. To distract himself, he teases, “You know, I’m not surprised you’re being pushy. Do you remember the time you came down with the flu? I thought you were going to die, swear to God I did, and you kept insisting you were going to work…”

“We needed the money.” Kyle tucks a fist under his chin. His curled fingers press into Jimmy’s chest, just this side of uncomfortable. “You wouldn’t let me.”

“I sang a terrible version of ‘Caught in the Storm’ to get you to sleep.” He’d made it up on the spot, although he’s not going to admit that. Kyle had fallen asleep by the end of the second verse, his head pillowed on Jimmy’s thigh. Jimmy had been loath to disturb him, but he hadn’t wanted to lose the song, so he’d jotted it down with a dying pen on whatever papers had been nearby. They’d puzzled over the scrawl together for weeks, making up increasingly more inventive lyrics to fill blanks where the ink was too pale to read. “Do you remember?”

Slowly, Kyle shakes his head. His “No” is scarcely more than a mumble against Jimmy’s shoulder. 

“That’s probably a good thing. That version of the song was _rough.”_ Jimmy shifts so he has an arm around Kyle’s shoulder rather than over his waist. Kyle makes a soft, contented sound that’s practically a purr. Jimmy can’t resist teasing, his tone indulgent, “Oh, sure, you won’t fall asleep.” 

He isn’t able to make out Kyle’s answer. The last few words trail away as though he’s forgotten what he meant to say. Jimmy is about to ask for clarification when Kyle lets out a little whiffle, not quite a snore, that makes it perfectly clear he’s fallen asleep. His hand falls away from his chin, the fingers uncurling and catching in the fabric of Jimmy’s shirt. 

“Just like last time.” Jimmy smiles and leans his cheek against the top of Kyle’s head. There’s no way he’s getting up for a good long while, so he might as well get comfortable. “Out like a fuckin’ light. Least you’re not demanding to get up.” 

This could conceivably be the only time he’ll be able to sit with Kyle like this. Starting tomorrow, he ought to go back to the restaurant and beg for more shifts, supposing the owner will even speak to him. (There’s no point going back to _Hit List._ Not only does he not have a place there anymore, it isn’t a viable option. With Kyle’s hospital bills to pay, they need all the money they can get, and the pay simply isn’t good enough.) Today, while it lasts, he’s going to stay and appreciate everything he almost lost.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter involves Jimmy displaying emotional maturity that I don't know if he was capable of in the show, so...maybe some out-of-character behavior on his part?

Jimmy’s resolve weakens the next day. His only caveats are that Kyle has to take the makeshift donut seat and that he is on no account to bounce around the theater as is his unfortunate wont. (Unfortunate only in the context of the fractured pelvis—Jimmy would be lying if he said he thought Kyle’s bouncing wasn’t absolutely adorable.) Kyle’s sole caveat is that he won’t take the wheelchair. It’s partially pride and partially practicality: they’d have a hard time finding a cabbie willing to deal with a wheelchair. Instead, he takes the cane, albeit with some grumbling.

This is how Jimmy finds himself back at rehearsals. His plan is to drop Kyle off and go to beg for extra shifts at the bar. Loath as he is to leave Kyle, they need the money, and Derek would no doubt be less than thrilled with his presence. When they arrive, however, Derek, Scott, and Julia have a proposition. 

“I called them yesterday night,” Kyle admits. He balls his hands into his sweater sleeves the way he does when he’s nervous. “I didn’t want them to take _Hit List_ away from you entirely. You were right, it’s more yours than mine—it’s not fair that I can stay and you can’t.”

The look Derek shoots Jimmy makes it perfectly clear that this offer is for Kyle’s sake rather than out of any residual fondness for Jimmy. “If you can dance in the ensemble for a week, and if during that week you can be dedicated, timely, and _sober,_ I’ll consider—only consider, mind you—giving Jesse back to you.” 

“What’s the point?” Jimmy resists the urge to wrap his arm around Kyle, who’s found a comfortable position in one of the seats. “No offense, but you guys don’t pay that well. I need my time back so I can work a real job, y’know?” 

Julia and Scott share a secretive grin and a gesture that’s clearly asking who’s going to break some kind of news. It’s Scott who announces, “We got a producer. We’re going to Broadway!” 

“I wouldn’t get excited,” Derek mutters to nobody in particular. “It’s Jerry Rand.”

Jimmy tilts his head, unsure if he heard what he thought he heard. Kyle’s clutching hand and excited squeak assure him that he did. “Broadway?” he asks numbly. 

Julia holds out her hands to Kyle, who releases his hold on Jimmy’s jacket to clasp her fingers. _“Hit List_ is going to Broadway! Oh, come here!” She pulls Kyle into an embrace. Jimmy does his best not to glare. “I’m so proud of you,” she says as she draws back. Despite Jimmy’s glare, she reaches out a hand to him. “Both of you. There are a lot of young playwrights and musicians who would kill to be where you two are now.”

“In the ensemble?” Jimmy asks sarcastically. 

This earns him not one but four glares. It’s Derek who speaks. “I’m giving you one last chance, which is one more than I’d planned. Fuck this up, and no amount of begging will convince me to let you anywhere near this show again.”

“Then I’d better go get ready for rehearsal.” He ruffles Kyle’s messy hair. “You, rest. If you need anything, and I mean anything, you’re not moving, you’re calling me over. Understood?” 

“Don’t worry,” Kyle chides, his expression unabashedly fond. “I’ll be fine. I always am.” 

Reluctantly, Jimmy drifts off to learn the moves to a dozen new dances. He thinks he knows them from watching the ensemble during countless previous rehearsals. He does not. 

By the end of ‘Original’, Jimmy is sweating and embarrassed. He knows he isn’t at the peak of fitness, but he’d never have guessed how out of shape he is. In an uncharacteristic display of kindness, Derek opts to run a scene without the ensemble next. 

“Sam needs the practice just as much as you do.” Ana’s voice makes Jimmy jump. She nods at Sam, who’s brought his script with him onto the steps of the pier. Then she must catch a glimpse of Kyle, because she asks, “How is he?” 

“Huh?” Jimmy follows her gaze to Kyle, who’s talking animatedly to Scott. “Oh. He’s…” He sighs. “Stubborn.”

There’s only a slight mocking edge to her laughter. “Who does that remind me of?” 

“Yeah, but Kyle is supposed to let me…” Jimmy gestures in Kyle’s vague direction, unsure how to explain. Kyle takes care of them, but it’s Jimmy’s job to ensure that he doesn’t run himself ragged doing so. As situations demand, this has involved alcohol, cuddling, and forcefully scooping him and carrying him to bed. Ana knows about the alcohol and has heard some stories involving forceful scooping, but Jimmy has judiciously omitted any cuddling because he knows the conclusions she’d draw. (Not inaccurate conclusions, but he would like to keep that to himself.) 

“Care for him?” She quirks an eyebrow at him. He can’t read what she means by it, so he opts not to answer. 

“How’s, uh.” He clears his throat awkwardly. “How’s Karen?” 

“You mean after you didn’t catch her, or after you called her out as an emotionless manipulative bitch? She’ll be fine as long as you keep your distance, jackass.” Ana crosses her arms. Jimmy braces himself for more vitriol—he knows he deserves it—but she sees something in his expression that stops her. “Wow. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you actually cared.”

There’s no point protesting that he does when the last several months have supplied plenty of evidence to the contrary. He turns away from her and watches Sam’s attempt at ‘The Love I Meant to Say.’ Even allowing for the fact that he isn’t yet off-book, it’s appalling. 

“No!” 

Every eye in the theater turns to him. Derek rolls his eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”

Jimmy ignores him. Derek claims he knows a good show, but Jimmy knows the music, and it is not what Sam’s singing. “You’re singing it wrong! The…” He gestures at Karen, who’s standing on the edge of the pier. “The girl you love is about to jump to her death and you—you’re singing like you’re trying to _impress_ her. That’s not what this scene is! Being a good singer isn’t gonna save her. All you can do is be raw and hope it’s enough.” 

“I’m not—” Sam jabs the script in Jimmy’s direction. “I’m being raw.”

Jimmy scoffs. Sam has a beautiful voice, but it’s the vocal equivalent of oil on wet pavement—pretty but superficial. If he can be raw, Jimmy hasn’t heard it yet. “No, you’re not, you’re being showy.”

“We’re going to Broadway,” Derek drawls. “A bit of showmanship isn’t a bad thing.”

Sam folds his arms over his chest, hugging the script as though it might save him from judgmental composers. “All right, I’ll bite. Show me ‘raw,’ and I’ll do it better than anything you can give me.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jimmy glimpses Derek rub the bridge of his nose. This is probably the exact thing he wanted to avoid. Despite Derek’s obvious distaste for this idea, Jimmy bounds up onto the pier and nudges Sam aside. 

“Then give me some space.” 

Reluctantly, Sam steps down from the pier. Jimmy perches on the step, braces his arms on his knees, and launches into the opening line acapella. He means to slip into character, to find and embody Jesse’s brokenness. Instead, he’s thrown into a vivid sense-memory of the hospital room: Kyle’s hand in his, these same words losing against the breathless silence of the room. He sings a little louder to compensate.

As it had in the hospital, his voice breaks on ‘stay.’ He finishes the song slightly off-key, feeling broken open and drained dry. As soon as the last note ends, he gets to his feet and bolts off the pier. 

“See?” he asks. His voice cracks and goes wildly high, so he clears his throat and tries again. “See? Raw. Vulnerable.” 

“Like I just almost lost my boyfriend,” Sam says flatly. 

Jimmy raises an eyebrow. If Sam has some event in his past that connects him to the way Jesse feels in this moment, he certainly doesn’t act like it. “I don’t care what you have to pretend happened to get real emotion into your voice. Just stop singing like there’s no deeper story.” 

He skulks back to Ana, who’s lurked at the edge of the stage to watch. No sooner has he reached her than she says, “You know he was talking about you, right?”

Jimmy scoffs. “Well then he didn’t understand any more than I thought he would. I wasn’t singing like I almost just lost my…” He trails off. The hospital—Kyle—had been the only thing on his mind. Was it that obvious? “Kyle’s not my boyfriend.” 

She rolls her eyes so melodramatically that it must be visible from the back of the house. “Are you in denial or just oblivious?” 

Jimmy’s reflexive denial dies in his throat. He casts a glance at Kyle, who’s watching Sam’s performance with a pensive frown, and lets his shoulders slump. “Neither,” he admits. “Just…”

She grabs his upper arm and steers him backstage. They find a secluded spot amidst a pile of boxes, where Jimmy slumps down onto the edge of a crate and Ana perches on a convenient corner. When she speaks, her tone is sharp and her words are blunt. “I don’t know what your issue is, but for fuck’s sake, Jimmy. You never wanted Karen, did you? You’ve been in love with Kyle forever.”

He rubs his hands over his face. There’s a low headache building behind his eyes that he associates with the need for a stiff drink. “I didn’t…not want Karen. I just wanted her for all the wrong reasons. Okay, yeah, and I’m—I’m really sorry for that.”

“Tell that to her, not me.” Ana cocks her head. Jimmy nods his assent mostly to the ground. “What do you mean, ‘the wrong reasons’?”

He mumbles a weary expletive. “Not gonna lie, she was annoying as hell when I first met her, but she didn’t…she didn’t look at me like I’m worthless. When she looked at me, it didn’t feel like she saw the drugs or the money troubles or even the attitude—it felt like she thought I was worth something.” Perhaps it’s pathetic that his standards are so low. Ana can decide that for herself. “That was how Kyle made me feel when I first met him. Problem is, Karen could actually do something for me, so…”

“So you used her, like you use everybody.” It’s said so bluntly that Jimmy almost doesn’t feel the sting in her words. 

“I idealized her,” he admits. “I didn’t see her as Karen, I just saw her as my ticket to somewhere. And yeah, I wanted that, can you blame me?” He sighs and lets his eyes fall closed. “I thought it was love. Really, I did.”

“It wasn’t,” Ana says flatly. 

Jimmy shakes his head. He’d transformed Karen into the perfect woman, and embedded into that misconception was the idea that she could see him rather than his mistakes. When she lashed out at him (unfairly, he’ll maintain until his dying day), that image of her shattered. He’d been grieving its loss more than the dissolution of their relationship. 

“You owe her the most massive apology.” Ana props her elbows on her knees. “Like, I thought the apology Derek owes her for being a fucking creep needed to be impressive, but this has to take ‘apology’ to a whole new level.” 

Jimmy scoffs. “And the apology she owes me for the way she treated me?” Ana shoots him a venomous look. “I told her about horrible things in my past. She could have stopped talking to me over any of them. Instead, she decides that the most unforgivable thing I’ve done was defend Kyle from getting the shit beaten out of him?”

Ana rolls her eyes. He bites back a quip about the likelihood that they’ll roll out of her head. “Have you ever considered that she wasn’t thrilled with your behavior before? Maybe that was the last straw.”

Jimmy doesn’t dignify that with a response. He told Karen things that would send most people running for the hills, probably with good reason. If she’d wanted out, she could have used any of those stories as an excuse. She shouldn’t have punished him for defending the only person in his life who’s never abandoned him. 

“You could have apologized,” she points out. 

“For defending Kyle?” Jimmy scoffs. “No. And I’d do it again.”

Ana reaches down and pats him pityingly on the shoulder. “That’s pretty clear.” When he doesn’t respond, she presses, “You love him.”

“Always have.” Until two days ago, Jimmy would have struggled to admit it. He told himself for so long that his feelings for Kyle were friendly or brotherly, not because he’s ashamed but because Kyle deserves so much better. When he says this aloud, Ana shrugs. 

“Of course he does, you’re a wreck.” This is why he likes her—she doesn’t sugarcoat anything. “But he wants you. That has to count for something, especially given that he’s been with you since you were young.”

Without warning, Lexi pokes her head into their hidden corner. “Derek needs the ensemble,” she says without preamble. “Jimmy, come on.” 

‘The Goodbye Song’ is an unqualified disaster. Sam forgets half his lines and has to hum the entire second verse. For his part, Jimmy falls off the set immediately upon entering the scene. He rolls to his feet and continues to sing because there’s nothing else to be done. Sam’s voice tightens over stifled laughter, so it feels like the most deserved of turnabout when he forgets the next line. 

After two more songs go similarly, Derek turns to Scott and sighs, “Broadway, here we come.” Jimmy might ordinarily get defensive if someone said any of his lines with such blatant sarcasm, but in this case he has to agree. 

They stay late into the night, having canceled their performance in anticipation of the Broadway move and the transition to a new Jesse. By the time Derek is willing to call it a night, Jimmy aches in places he didn’t know could ache. He vows to never again underestimate the ensemble. 

Kyle nodded off two songs ago after spending half an hour fighting to keep his eyes open. He’s sleeping so peacefully that even Derek is careful not to wake him. If Jimmy wasn’t stiff and sore from dancing, he would scoop him up and carry him out. Unfortunately, his arms are too achy and uncooperative to bear Kyle’s weight. 

“Hey.” He rubs a hand over Kyle’s slumped shoulder. Kyle gives a little snuffly snort and raises his head, peering around wide-eyed as though he’s forgotten where he is. “Rehearsal’s over. Come on, let’s bounce.”

“Mhmm,” Kyle agrees, making no move whatsoever to get out of his seat. Jimmy tugs lightly on his arm. 

“Come on, buddy. Yep, I know that expression, you’re not gonna remember any of this tomorrow morning.” He helps Kyle stand. Before they attempt to leave, he uncoils the blanket from its donut configuration and drapes it over Kyle’s shoulders. Kyle purrs and huddles into it like he’s freezing. “Come on. We gotta get you home.” 

Kyle falls asleep again in the cab, his head burrowed into Jimmy’s neck. He barely wakes up when they reach their flat. Jimmy has to half-coax, half-carry him inside. He’s just gotten the door unlocked when Kyle’s legs give out altogether, nearly sending both of them to the ground. 

“Gotcha.” Jimmy catches him, scoops him up bridal-style, and carries him inside. Kyle tangles his fingers in the neckline of Jimmy’s flannel and doesn’t let go, even when Jimmy settles him on his bed. “Come on, buddy. You’ve gotta let me go.” 

He doesn’t. Slowly, Jimmy eases out of the flannel and tucks it into Kyle’s blanket cocoon. He makes a contented sound and cuddles it close to his chest. “I’ll be up in the loft if you need anything,” he murmurs. Kyle is too deeply asleep to hear him, but it’s reassuring to say. 

The loft feels miles away from Kyle’s bed. Jimmy forces himself to lie down and close his eyes. He’ll be no good to anyone, especially Kyle, if he doesn’t sleep while he can.


	4. Chapter 4

Jimmy wakes up to sunlight streaming in the windows. That’s not good. He’s due at rehearsal any minute. Today of all days, when he has to prove himself to Derek, was not the day to sleep in.

“Ky!” he hollers. “We gotta go!” He rips the privacy curtains away from the stairs. The sight that greets him stops him with one foot on the topmost step. 

Kyle is face-down on the floor between the sofa and the kitchen, braced on his arms as though he’s trying to army-crawl his way to the stairs. When he sees Jimmy, he flashes him a crooked, self-deprecating smile. “That’s what I’ve been trying to do for the past half an hour.”

“Half an hour?” Jimmy takes the stairs two at a time, trips on the second-to-last step, and almost falls on his face. He hits the ground running and barely skids to a stop in time not to kick Kyle in the side. “Kyle! Why didn’t you call for me?”

“Oh, because yelling at you to wake up ever works.” Kyle pushes himself up so he’s perched on his hip. Without asking permission, Jimmy bends down, scoops him up, and carries him bridal-style to the sofa. “Put me down. I need to walk.”

“You need to rest!” Jimmy sets him down in his favorite spot on the sofa. “Why the hell would you try to walk without your cane?”

“We left it at the theater.” Kyle tries to duck out of Jimmy’s hold. “Besides, I need to practice without it. We can’t afford physical therapy, so the only way I’m going to get better is by pushing myself.” 

“What would you have done if you hurt yourself when you fell?” Belatedly, Jimmy notices the way Kyle has his right hand tucked against his chest. “You did, didn’t you?” 

“I’m fine.” He struggles to swing his uncooperative legs off the edge of the sofa. “We have to go, Derek is going to fire you again if you aren’t there…” 

Jimmy plants a hand in the center of Kyle’s chest and pushes him back into the cushions. “All right, if you stay put. I don’t want to worry about you while I get dressed.”

In between pulling on articles of clothing, Jimmy reluctantly calls Derek to explain the delay. He handles the news with remarkable grace, opting for a simple “Well, hurry up” rather than cutting snark or threats. Jimmy takes this to mean he’s worried for Kyle in his irritable way. 

“Get dressed.” Jimmy bursts out of the curtained-off closet and throws a sweater and pair of jeans at Kyle. (It’s Kyle’s favorite sweater, the one with stretched-out sleeves from all the times he’s balled his hands in them. Jimmy pretends he picked it at random.) “We gotta go.” 

By the time Jimmy pokes his head out from the closet, Kyle has donned the sweater and has almost forced his uncooperative legs into his jeans. When Jimmy takes a step toward him, he snaps, “I don’t need your help! I can do it on my own.” 

“Man, I know, but we gotta go now.” 

With a little victorious cry, Kyle manages to get his jeans all the way up. He jams his feet in his shoes without lacing them up and gestures toward the door. “Come on then, let’s go.” 

Jimmy takes an uncertain step toward the door. He wants to go to Kyle but doubts he’ll be welcome. Instead, he watches as Kyle pushes himself off the sofa. By clinging to the armrest, he’s able to stagger around the edge closest to the door. The moment he loses that support, his legs go out from under him. Jimmy is barely in time to catch him before he falls. 

“You’re a stubborn bastard,” Jimmy accuses. He wraps an arm around Kyle’s waist and helps him stumble to the door. “Do you remember what the doctor said? You’ll probably never walk without help again, so why do you keep trying—”

“Because I did this to myself!” It’s the first time since the hospital that Kyle has alluded to deliberately stepping in front of the car. Jimmy had hoped, however futilely, that he’d been high and depressed and that he’d misspoken. “I should be able to fight through it!”

“Ky.” Jimmy shuts and locks the door behind them. Kyle wraps an arm halfheartedly around his shoulders. He knows he needs the support, but it pains him to admit it—Jimmy can feel it in his uneasy grip. “We’ll get through this, hey? Together. Like we always have. That’s not gonna change.” 

They flag down a cab. Jimmy bundles Kyle into the back seat despite his insistence that “I can do this, Jimmy.” Once he’s sure Kyle is comfortable, he sits down and gives directions to the cab driver. By the time he’s finished talking, he has to lean back in his seat. It wasn’t a long walk, and Kyle is the size of a malnourished sparrow, but Jimmy is exhausted as though he’s just carried heavy furniture up several flights of stairs. 

“Are you okay?” Kyle reaches out with his injured right hand but stops before touching Jimmy’s brow. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” He thumps a closed fist against his thigh. It’s the start of withdrawals that he can’t possibly deal with right now. Kyle needs him; he can’t afford to be anything less than alert. “Lemme see that hand.” 

By the time they reach the theater, they’ve tentatively diagnosed the injured wrist as a sprain. Jimmy pretends he doesn’t notice the worried glances Kyle keeps sending his way. Typical Kyle, always putting his own needs last. This time, Jimmy won’t let him, no matter how severe the withdrawal symptoms get. 

“C’mon.” Jimmy pays the cab driver and turns to help Kyle out of the cab. “We’ve gotta get inside.”

To their surprise, Ana meets them at the door. She spares Jimmy a glance before catching Kyle’s arm. “You should have stayed home. We’re moving to our Broadway theater today.”

“And I’ll be more of a hindrance than a help.” Kyle gives a single, tight nod. “I understand. I can go home, if that would be better. I just need to grab my cane.” His mouth twists like he’s just eaten something sour. Ana rubs a sympathetic hand over his shoulder. Jimmy hooks an arm back around his waist and holds him still. 

“No, no you can’t. I don’t want you alone like this.”

“Jimmy, I’ll be fine.” Kyle tries to twist out of his arms, trips, and falls. He flings out his injured hand to catch himself but still lands on his backside. The impact wrenches a pained cry from his lips. Jimmy drops down next to him, ready with a reproach, but Ana lays a firm hand on his shoulder before he can speak. 

“You probably will be fine, but if what just happens now happens again when you’re alone?” She takes Kyle’s uninjured left hand and helps him to his feet. As he stumbles up, he draws a breath that sounds a lot like a sob. “See? You’re hurt. There’s no shame in asking for help, not when we all want to give it.” 

“Can I sit down?” he asks, his voice clipped with pain. 

“We forgot the blanket.” Jimmy claps a hand to his forehead. Without that blanket to make the donut seat, Kyle will be in almost as much pain sitting down as he would be standing up. 

“Not a problem.” Ana gestures that Jimmy should take Kyle. He does, despite the way Kyle goes rigid when Jimmy wraps an arm around his waist. “I’ll go see what we’ve got.” 

By the time the two of them have made their way to the theater proper, Ana has returned with a moth-eaten red blanket. “I know how it looks…and how it smells…” Now that she mentions it, Jimmy detects a whiff of camphor. Evidently it was ineffective. “But it’s the best I could do on short notice.”

“How did you find this thing?” Kyle asks as she arranges it on a seat. 

She throws a mischievous smile over her shoulder. “You think you and Blake have a monopoly on the prop closet?” 

“Had,” Kyle says mournfully. Jimmy shares a knowing look with Ana. She knew about the affair with Tom through Jimmy, who’s anything but good at keeping his mouth shut. Like Jimmy, she’s been expecting Kyle to break up with Blake for over a week now.

“Oh.” She steps aside so Kyle can sit down. He makes the most pitiful stifled whimpers when Jimmy helps him into the seat. Jimmy holds him as tight as he can without doing him further injury, trying to reassure him that he’s here for however long Kyle needs him. “So what, you and Tom are…?”

“No.” Kyle gestures at his legs. “It was just casual. I’m not much good to him like this, am I?” 

“He said that?” Jimmy demands. He barely knows Tom Levitt, but that won’t stop him from tracking him down and breaking his nose. He’s done worse for lesser insults. 

“No!” Kyle squeezes his hand. No doubt he can read the murder in Jimmy’s eyes. “He just…didn’t really say otherwise when I told him that. Plus, he has a big Broadway show to run.” He lays a hand against Ana’s arm. “Shouldn’t I let you go move things? Both of you.”

“Just holler if you need anything.” She snags Jimmy’s arm and drags him away. He doesn’t want to go, but she has sharp nails that dig into his flesh through his flannel every time he tries to slow down.

“I need to stay with him.” Jimmy tries to twist out of her arms the way Kyle had done to him. He only succeeds in driving her nails deeper into his arm. 

“He doesn’t want you right now.” She steers him toward Derek, who’s directing Blake and Sam in their endeavors to transfer a rack of costumes to a truck waiting by the curb. “He doesn’t want you to think he’s weak, and honestly, Jimmy, I doubt he trusts you to stay with him for very much longer.”

“Weak?” Jimmy scoffs. “Kyle is the strongest guy I know. The last thing I’m gonna do is bail when he needs me.” Ana raises an eyebrow. Guilt settles like a stone in his gut, and reluctantly, he admits, “I know I’ve done that before, but this time I won’t.” 

She only has time to shoot him an incredulous look before they reach Derek. He gives Jimmy a disdainful look and jerks his chin at a second rack of costumes. “We need to load that up. Is there anything from the sets that you absolutely can’t live without?”

He’s rather attached to their pier, which was constructed at his and Kyle’s suggestion over the course of two grueling days. Unfortunately, he doubts Derek will want to take it with them—he’ll say something like “It’s not the right aesthetic for Broadway” and shoot down all of Jimmy’s attempts to reason with him. “No.” 

“Oh, and Mr. Collins?” This time, Derek’s gaze isn’t hostile or sarcastic. For Derek, it almost looks gentle. “How’s our book writer?” 

“Not great,” Jimmy replies honestly. “But stubborn enough to pretend otherwise.”

Derek nods, shifts his crossed arms, and looks down at the tile. “Right, then. Off you go.”

Moving the costume rack to the truck requires Jimmy and Ana’s combined efforts and some creative opening of doors. By the time they’re finished, Jimmy is so weary he has to sit down. Naturally, this is the moment Karen walks in. Ana makes a despairing gesture at her and stalks off to get another assignment from Derek. 

“Why are you sitting down?” Karen perches beside him. She must have come from moving something heavy: half her hair has come out of its ponytail and beads of sweat have gathered above her lip. “You haven’t been here that long.”

He runs his hands through his hair. There’s no reason to lie to her—she’s well aware of his drug habit by now—but admitting that he’s in withdrawal puts his stomach in knots. “Coke withdrawal,” he says curtly. “Starts with exhaustion, turns into nightmares and anxiety attacks. Which is great, y’know, when you do drugs to manage those things in the first place.” Once again, he’s just told her something he’s only ever felt comfortable enough to tell Kyle. He needs to stop confiding in her; she’s made it abundantly clear that she doesn’t want to hear about his past. To distract her, he says, “I owe you an apology.” 

“Yeah, you do.” She sweeps her hair out of her face. “I don’t know that now is the right time. Derek…”

“Is gonna yell at me for sitting down one way or another. At least this way you’re around to protect me.” He would get up and help, but even the thought makes his legs feel heavy. “No, but really, I do. I got you hurt and more than that, I used you. I’m sorry.”

Karen’s brow furrows. Jimmy hurries to explain. He can’t quite remember how he explained it to Ana, but he gives it his best shot. “All these months I’ve known you and I don’t think I’ve ever been able to see the real you. I just saw this perfect version of you that I put together in my head. That’s why…” He laughs. “It honestly never occurred to me that you would hate me so much when you found out about my past. Every time you look at me, you look like you see me, not the drugs or the abuse or any of it. Finding out that was enough to scare you off…all of a sudden you weren’t perfect anymore.” 

She gives one of those little uncertain laughs that make him unsure whether she’s completely genuine or utterly fake. “Yeah, well, you’re kinda not the only person to put me on a pedestal.”

“I wanna be someone you can trust.” He reaches for her hand. When she recoils, it stings, but he understands. “I wanna be worthy of the way you used to look at me—like I was good, despite everything. I just…” He sighs and drops his head into his hands. It had seemed so straightforward when he was telling Ana that his love for Karen was misplaced worship rather than true love. Now that he’s saying the words to Karen, it’s easy to wonder if it might have been love after all. “I don’t know. You mean a lot to me, Karen. I just kinda have to sort out how I feel about the real you.”

She considers this more carefully than he’d thought she would. “Apology accepted,” she finally pronounces. “And thank you for explaining. I don’t think I’ve had anyone else apologize for the way they think of me before.” She works her hair tie free, gathers the escaped strands together with the rest, and re-ties her ponytail. Jimmy watches out of the corner of his eye. “You still scare me, Jimmy, and I don’t think I can go back to what we had before, but I’m willing to find a new way to be.”

“With the real you and a sober version of me?” Jimmy smiles wryly. Karen nods. 

“That sounds good.” 

He’s able to accomplish a little more that day by working sporadically in between bouts of fatigue. Derek chides him for it, as does Sam, but Karen defends him. It’s more than he’d dared hope after his clumsy apology, and whenever he’s able, he thanks her for it. She brushes his thanks away. “You’re doing this for me, and for Kyle. It’s the right thing to do, even if the symptoms are inconvenient.” 

“Speaking of…I should go check on Kyle.” Jimmy pushes himself to his feet and wanders into the theater. He stops as soon as he can see the first row of seats. 

Julia has taken the seat beside Kyle and has pulled him into an embrace. Judging by the frequency of sniffles emanating from their seats, they’re both crying. Jimmy can only imagine what they’re discussing that’s moved both of them to tears, but he doesn’t dare interrupt to find out. 

“How is he?” He didn’t hear Karen come in. The sudden closeness of her voice makes him whirl around, his hands coming up defensively. She holds up both hands, palms out. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I think he’s okay.” Jimmy casts another glance at Julia and Kyle. They’ve stopped hugging; Kyle is dashing his sleeve across his eyes. “Yeah, he’s okay. C’mon, Derek probably needs us.”

At the end of the day, after every crate, bag, and costume rack has been moved, Jimmy finds Kyle dozing in his seat. It’s proof that he remembered to take his pain medication, which doesn’t do much in the morning but makes him drowsy in the evening. “Hey, buddy. You awake?”

Kyle sits up, his eyes wide and panicky. When he sees Jimmy, his alarm drains away. “Jimmy, hey. Is it time to go?”

“Yep.” Jimmy rubs a hand over his shoulder. “Remember your cane this time.”

Cane in hand, Kyle insists on walking without Jimmy’s help. Jimmy trails half a step behind him, ready to lunge forward if anything goes wrong. Slowly but surely, they make it out the front doors. 

“I practiced walking a little,” Kyle admits. “Julia watched me. We sang that walking song from the Claymation Santa Claus movie—do you remember that one?”

“The one about ‘put one foot in front of the other’?” Jimmy reaches over and ruffles his hair. He’s grateful to Julia for getting Kyle in better spirits about his cane, even if it involved a silly song. “Dork.” 

They flag down a cab. On the way home, Jimmy asks, “You know you can take your time, right? It hasn’t even been a week. You should still be resting.”

“I know.” Kyle burrows his head into Jimmy’s shoulder. He’s falling back asleep while he talks, which Jimmy refuses to admit is adorable. “I just wanna be useful again.”

By the time they reach their flat, Kyle is asleep. Jimmy shakes him awake as gently as he can manage. “C’mon, man. We’re home.”

“Mhmm,” Kyle agrees. He makes no move to grab his cane until Jimmy nudges it into his open palm. “Okay. Time to walk again.”

They make it in the door without any major incidents, although Kyle walks into the wall rather than through the open doorway. Jimmy nudges him in the right direction. “If you weren’t hurt, it’d be kinda funny watching you walk around drugged up.”

“I hate you too,” Kyle mumbles. He wanders over to bed and curls under the covers without so much as kicking off his shoes. Jimmy sits down beside him and sets the cane against the bedside table. 

“Ky? I gotta tell you—I was so tired today because I’m in withdrawal. You know how bad it’s gonna get. You’ve watched me go through this before.”

Kyle’s sleepy eyes search his face. He remembers last time—Jimmy can see it in the set of his mouth and in his worried eyes. “Oh, Jimmy.”

“I wanna be strong for you, man, but I don’t even know if I can be strong enough for myself.” He’s never made it past four days after the onset of symptoms. Some of his former clients who’ve sobered up say it only lasts a week, give or take a few days, but he doubts he’ll make it that long. “Tomorrow I want you to go with your parents. I’m gonna be no good to you like this.”

Kyle sits up, the blanket pooling around his waist. “And when the cravings hit?” 

Jimmy flashes him a rueful smile. “I’ll put all my pigheadedness to good use, right?”

“No.” Kyle hunkers back under the covers. He must be freezing; he can’t keep warm on the best days, but since the accident, he’s been colder than usual. “I should be here with you.”

“I want you here. Honestly I do.” Kyle was the only reason he had the strength to last four days the last time. Without him, Jimmy will struggle to make it that long. “But you’re hurt, man, and that comes first.” When Kyle opens his mouth to protest, Jimmy says, “I just thought you should know. We can wait until morning to make decisions.”

That’s never a good thing to say, but with both of them this weary, it’s the right call to make. Jimmy contemplates braving the stairs to the loft but doubts he could make it. Instead, he wanders over to the sofa, pulls the throw blanket down on top of him, and falls into a fitful doze.


	5. Chapter 5

The week that follows their discussion is hell. Nightmares beset Jimmy whether he’s asleep or awake. He sees his father lurking in corners, belt in hand; out of the corner of his eye, he sees Adam slinking through doors or leaning on counters. By the third day, he can’t leave the apartment for fear of encountering the real Adam loitering outside the door. 

In all of this, Kyle is the only thing he can ascertain is real. Despite the pain he’s in, he insists on accompanying Jimmy to the kitchen whenever meals need prepared and to the closet the few times Jimmy remembers to change his clothes. He shrugs off Jimmy’s thanks as though they make him uncomfortable. “I need the practice,” he says ruefully, gesturing to his cane. “Anyway, I’m not going to leave you alone.”

“You will.” Jimmy curls on the sofa, the only place in the entire apartment where he feels safe. Kyle sits beside him and props his cane against the armrest. He can’t tuck his legs to his chest the way he used to; instead, he huddles against Jimmy’s side. “I’m, I’m being fucking selfish and making you hurt yourself to care for me, I always have—you know I always have—and you should leave, it’s the only way…”

“Shh.” Kyle runs his fingers through Jimmy’s hair. His sprained wrist has begun to heal; it no longer pains him to give Jimmy little thoughtless touches that reassure them both. “You think I don’t know you’re doing this for me? You’re not being selfish, Jimmy. This is the most selfless thing I’ve ever seen you do.” 

Jimmy manages a ragged laugh. “I dunno if that makes me sound really good or really awful.”

Kyle shrugs. “You’re not good at the selfless thing. I am. That’s why we work so well together.” He tugs at Jimmy’s shoulder until he topples over, his head falling against Kyle’s shoulder and lodging there. It’s so comfortable that Jimmy vows he’ll never move again. “I really am your better half.” 

“Always knew that.” Jimmy drapes his arm over Kyle’s waist. He’s nowhere near careful enough; the little hiss Kyle tries to stifle alerts him to that. Ashamed, he adjusts his hold so he’s causing Kyle less pain. “You deserve so much better, man. I dunno why you put up with me, but I love you for it.” 

Kyle’s shoulders stiffen. When he speaks, his voice is resigned. “You’re going to ask me to forget you said that when you’re sober, so I’ll spare you the trouble. I didn’t hear anything you just said.” 

As much as Jimmy wants to protest that he means every word, Kyle’s caution is for the best. Within the hour, he craves a hit so badly he fears he’ll die without it. When Kyle restrains him, as he promised he would, Jimmy spits curses at him with as much conviction as his declaration of love. 

“I know you don’t mean it,” Kyle keeps saying, although it sounds a hell of a lot like he’s trying to convince himself. 

Over the course of seven or eight days, Jimmy fluctuates between love and hate so many times he confuses himself. Kyle doesn’t respond to either. In his rare moments of lucidity, Jimmy loathes himself for that. With everyone except Jimmy, Kyle is bright and emotive—he feels everything so strongly that the people around him can’t help but respond. Somewhere along the line, Jimmy played with his feelings cruelly enough that he no longer trusts himself to have any at all. 

The nightmares don’t subside. Jimmy doubts they ever will. The cravings do, albeit slowly. When at last he no longer sees Adam in every shadow and no longer thinks he’ll die without a hit, Jimmy apologizes profusely. “Ky, I’m sorry…”

Kyle gives him one of those reserved little smiles that mean he’s hurt but trying not to be. “I know you didn’t mean any of it. Although ‘how can you get up on a high horse if your legs don’t work’ sounds like the start of a joke. We should incorporate that into _Hit List_ somehow.” 

“Don’t do that!” Jimmy grabs his hand. “Don’t act like it doesn’t hurt you, because it does. It must. You…you know you don’t have to make excuses for me, right? Because I know you, and I know that the whole time I was raging at you, you took it all to heart no matter how hard you tried to tell yourself it was the drugs talking.”

“You weren’t wrong, though.” He huddles into his sweater. Jimmy tugs the spare blanket (the one that isn’t currently a donut seat) off the back of the sofa and drapes it around his shoulders. “If I loved you, _really_ loved you, I would have done everything different. The way we’ve been the last few years—it felt right but it wasn’t, for either of us. I made it so _easy_ for you to get back into drugs and whatever else.”

Jimmy can’t bear the self-loathing in his voice. It isn’t right for Kyle to blame himself for Jimmy’s mistakes. “And you just dragged me kicking and screaming through quitting, so I think we’re even there.” Kyle studies the chunky crochet of the blanket. Jimmy puts two fingers under his chin and coaxes him to look up. “I wanna go back to the way we were—do you remember? You were the brightest thing in my life, and I ruined you like I ruin everything.”

For the space of two breaths, they’re both lost in memories. Kyle breaks the silence with a little huff of breath that’s almost a sob. “I don’t know how to be like that again.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Jimmy cups Kyle’s face with hands that feel too large and clumsy to be as gentle as they need to be. He never meant to make him cry. “Just not tonight, huh? It’s late.” 

Kyle nods, his funny little mouth twisting into a rueful smile that breaks Jimmy’s heart. “Tomorrow we have to go to the theater, remember? If Derek wants to see either of us after this.” 

Jimmy flinches. He’s done his best to keep Derek and _Hit List_ out of his mind over the last few days. With luck, that offer about dancing in the ensemble will still be open as long as he can prove that the last week wasn’t for naught. “He’ll want you back. You know they all adore you.” When Kyle laughs, Jimmy insists, “They do. You’re the reason that show exists, and they know it, and they love you for it. Plus you’re just really fucking sweet.” 

“You haven’t slept in a week.” He’s deflecting again. One of these days, however difficult or uncharacteristic it may be, Jimmy is going to sit him down and lavish praise on him until he believes it. “I don’t have to believe a word you say.” 

“Uh.” Kyle mentioning how little he’s slept reminds him of the nightmares he’s sure to face the moment he closes his eyes tonight. That was one reason he’d gotten into drugs so young: they had been the only way he knew to stop the nightmares. Since then, the only other way he’s learned is not to sleep alone. That usually involves sex, but it doesn’t have to: he and Kyle used to share a bed whenever they had sleepovers. “Y’know, speaking of sleepless, can I…can I stay with you tonight, like we did when we were kids? I kinda don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Kyle’s eyes widen. “Of course! If it won’t, you know, be uncomfortable…”

Jimmy shakes his head. “Not for me. But you can tell me no if it’s gonna—”

“I don’t mind.” For the first time in days, his smile looks genuine. “This way I can make sure you get up on time.”

“Oh, ‘cause that ever works,” Jimmy laughs. He allows himself a quiet sigh of relief. Hopefully, this will keep the nightmares at bay.


	6. Chapter 6

Jimmy wakes feeling as though he’s just slept for a decade. He lets his eyes drift open and finds himself practically nose to nose with Kyle, whose eyes are open and alert. 

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he says. Jimmy grumbles. “We have to go. Also, you’re making breakfast.” 

“You’re sure you wanna do that to yourself?” Jimmy seldom cooks, with good reason. He’s an expert at reheating things, but ask him to scramble eggs or fry sausage and the only outcome will be a morning of regrets. 

“Yes,” Kyle says primly. “You’ve been terrible to me for the last week. This is the least you can do.” 

Instead, Jimmy hurries to the coffee shop down the block while Kyle gets dressed. He returns with two coffees, a breakfast sandwich, and a plain bagel. “We can eat on the way.”

“Oh.” Kyle pokes his head up from the sofa, where he’s been lying almost flat in an effort to struggle into his jeans. “Jimmy, you didn’t have to, I was teasing…”

“Come on.” Jimmy leans over the back of the sofa and tugs on his arm. “We gotta go.”

Once they’re comfortably sat in the cab, Kyle reaches for the bagel. Jimmy nudges the breakfast sandwich at him. “No, man, why would I get you a bagel and me a sandwich? That’s for you. I just spent the last week puking, I don’t think a greasy breakfast is the way to go.”

By the time they reach their new Broadway theater, Kyle has finished his sandwich and drained half of his coffee. Jimmy has picked his bagel apart and eaten about half. He pitches the rest, which is just as well; if he’d kept it, he might have thrown it at Derek. 

“Who the fuck is that?” 

Onstage, a redhead with a slim face is practicing “I’m Not Sorry.” Although Karen is present, Ana is nowhere in sight. Derek is watching with a scowl on his face. 

“That,” he drawls, “is your new Diva, Daisy Parker.” 

“What the fuck?” Jimmy demands. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Kyle sit in a nearby seat and cross his arms. He’s every bit as pissed as Jimmy, but he’s letting Jimmy speak first. “Where’s Ana? Is she sick?”

“Nope,” Derek pronounces, popping the ‘p.’ 

Only Kyle’s quick catch of Jimmy’s wrist stops him from attempting to collar Derek. “What the _actual fuck,_ Derek? Ana is our Diva—you can’t just replace her!”

“It’s not up to me.” Derek shrugs. “Jerry loves her as the Diva. He thinks she’ll appeal to Broadway audiences more than Ana.” 

“Ana is the reason the Diva is who she is,” Kyle interjects. Derek casts him a glance that’s far less cutting than the glare he’d turned on Jimmy. “You can’t fire her, Derek, she means too much to the show.”

“Put Daisy as Jesse’s sister or something.” Jimmy gestures at the stage, where Daisy and Karen are circling each other. Daisy lacks Ana’s presence; he doesn’t understand how anyone could favor her performance. “I can write her a song if you think she’s that good. But this is just wrong.” 

“Now I know you haven’t seen it because you’ve been too busy hallucinating,” Derek snaps, “but Ana can’t function on a Broadway stage. She’s been forgetting her lines, missing cues, and bungling the dances. Off-Broadway, she was magic, even I could see that, but she’s not the right fit with this theater. Daisy is.” 

“She was tired.” Kyle sits forward, turning the full force of his big innocent eyes on Derek. “We all were. She’ll be rested by now. Give her another chance, Derek, please. We wouldn’t have gotten here without her.” 

He shrugs and turns his back to them. For as much as he swears by Daisy as the Diva, he looks nothing but upset by her performance. “It’s out of my hands. Jerry’s the one ultimately in charge. You want Ana back, you’ll have to convince him.” 

Jimmy intends to stalk off and do precisely that. At the last second, he turns back and asks, “Derek? Our deal about the ensemble and Jesse, is that still…?”

Derek casts him a glance that’s halfway between irked and contemplative. “No,” he says. “I’m willing to give Jesse back to you, conditional on your good behavior. We’ve found a better place for Sam than your understudy, and he’s eager to make the transition.” 

Buoyed by the unexpected good news, Jimmy turns on his heel and goes to confront Jerry. It does not go well. He returns to Kyle’s side after a fruitless half-hour, nursing a headache. 

“Don’t say a word,” he hisses. “My head is splitting.” 

Kyle gives him a soft glance and reaches up. Reluctantly, Jimmy bends his head into Kyle’s hand. He barely feels the first touch for the throbbing pain. When he finally registers the gentle pressure, it dances the line between pleasant and painful. 

“Do we get Ana back?” 

“No.” Jerry had been very insistent on that point. Jimmy left the room with the distinct feeling that he’d been obstinate for the sake of being obstinate, not for the good of the show. “You know, when they said we got a producer, I didn’t think he’d be a stubborn selfish son of a—”

“Oh, you met Jerry.” It’s Karen’s voice. Jimmy twists his head so he can look up at her without losing the relief of Kyle’s touch. She tilts her head and gives him a lopsided smile. “Uh, Derek said to find you so we could rehearse ‘Rewrite This Story.’” 

A spark of excitement kindles behind Jimmy’s sternum. It feels like years since the last time he rehearsed any of his songs. “I’ll be right there. Unless…?”

Kyle shoves playfully at his head. “I’ll be fine. Go!” His smile is so genuine and unguarded that Jimmy finds himself grinning in reply. 

Over the course of an hour or so, they learn two things: Jimmy can remember every word of every song with perfect accuracy, and at the same time, he can remember at most half of his lines from any spoken scene. Derek despairs of him. He feels marginally better when he watches Sam run scenes as Amanda’s producer—he also forgets most of his lines. 

(They aren’t comparable. Jimmy has been in this role for months now; Sam has been reading for JB for a few days. Jimmy won’t acknowledge this for longer than a second or two.)

Because both Daisy and Sam are in new roles, and because Jimmy has so spectacularly forgotten his parts, they rehearse late into the night. By the time Jimmy leaves the stage, Kyle is deeply asleep in his seat. Ana is seated beside him, scrolling on her phone and looking as though she’s taken a bite of a particularly sour lemon. 

“Hey.” Jimmy kneels down beside Kyle’s seat. Ana glances at him. 

“You know,” she hisses, “if you’d been here, Derek might not have replaced me.”

“If I’d been here, I wouldn’t have been any good to anyone.” Jimmy fights not to snap at her. She was one of the ones most insistently pushing him to quit. If she thought that would happen overnight, she was mistaken. “And I tried, okay? Derek and Jerry both shut me down.”

She arches a dubious eyebrow. Thankfully, Kyle chooses this moment to snuffle sleepily and open his eyes. “J’my?”

“Right here, Ky.” Jimmy rubs a hand over Kyle’s shoulder. “Ready to go home?”

“Mhmm,” he hums agreeably. When he sees Ana, he gives her a drowsy smile and asks, “Did you get the answer you wanted?”

She shakes her head. “No, but I got the one I needed. Thanks for your help, Kyle.” 

On the way to the door, Jimmy asks, “What did you help her with?”

“Oh.” Kyle blinks at him, wide-eyed and half-focused. He won’t remember a word of this tomorrow. “She thinks Derek is fucking Daisy.” 

Jimmy lets fly a curse. He hadn’t thought his estimation of Derek could get any lower, but it’s just sunk another level. If he let his dick ruin the career of the best Diva they’ve ever had—their muse for the character, to put it in language Derek might understand—Jimmy will take him out back of the theater and beat him bloody. 

“Unfortunately, I think she’s right.” Kyle flops into the cab. His cane clatters against the far door, just muffling the softer _flump_ of his head against the seat. “I don’t want her to be. I don’t like Daisy. I was watching all her scenes, and she’s not as good.” 

“I know, buddy.” Jimmy pulls him close. “Mind if I run lines with you on the way home?”

For Jimmy’s sake, Kyle makes a valiant effort to keep his eyes open for the duration of the ride, and he almost succeeds. They’re halfway through the scene on the pier when his voice fades away and his head falls heavily against Jimmy’s shoulder. 

“Dude, we’re almost home. C’mon, stay awake.” 

It doesn’t work. Jimmy hadn’t really expected it to. He envies Kyle his untroubled (drug-induced) sleep, but the last thing he’s going to do is wake him before they reach the flat. Instead, he lays his cheek against Kyle’s tousled hair and finishes the scene in a whisper.


	7. Chapter 7

The next night is Jimmy’s first Broadway performance. He has a panic attack in the dressing room that leaves him desperate for a hit. The shakiness lingers throughout the entire first act and threatens to overwhelm him during intermission. Karen approaches him after the curtain falls on the first act and lays a hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey. I know it’s scary, but that’s good. If you’re not scared, the work isn’t any good.” 

He manages a shaky laugh. “You know I haven’t had an anxiety attack since high school? _Fuck,_ they’re even worse than I remember.” 

She links an arm through his and guides him backstage. “Is there anything that would help?”

“Coke,” he replies honestly. 

She has him sit down in a chair that’s much less comfortable than it looks. “I don’t think so,” she says, her voice lilting the way it does when she’s pretending to be amused. “But let me see what I can find instead.”

She turns to go. Before she reaches it, the door swings open. Jimmy can’t see who it is—Karen is blocking his view—but she says, “You should be sitting down.”

“I didn’t get to say ‘break a leg.’” Kyle, of course. He gives Karen a one-armed hug and shuffles to Jimmy’s side. 

“She’s right.” Jimmy nods at Karen, whose back is just visible through the closing door. “You should be sitting down. And nobody around here needs to break anything else.”

“No, I need to move around, remember?” He catches Jimmy’s hand and rubs his thumb across the knuckles. As hyperaware of his body as Jimmy currently is, even that gentle touch verges on painful. “You’re panicking. I could see it onstage.” 

“Fuck,” Jimmy mumbles. 

“I don’t think anyone else noticed!” Kyle hurries to clarify. “I just noticed because I know you.” He keeps rubbing his thumb over Jimmy’s knuckles. It’s more soothing than Jimmy would like to admit, despite his hypersensitivity. 

“Does the show feel different to you?” Jimmy hasn’t been able to shake the feeling that the energy of the show has diminished. It might be the new sets (he misses his pier, poorly-constructed as it was) or the larger stage, but he wants to believe it has to do with Daisy. 

Kyle nods. “In a not-so-good way. You can tell?” 

Jimmy lets his head fall forward. Derek didn’t listen to him, and as always, the show is suffering for it. “Yeah. It even feels different onstage. I don’t like it.” 

“It’s not you, if that helps.” Kyle offers a sweet smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I don’t know what it is, but it isn’t you.”

The door swings open again and Karen returns, brandishing a bottle of Coke. Jimmy manages a weary laugh. Emboldened, she grins as she holds it out. “You asked.”

“I’m more of a root beer guy, but thanks.” He takes the bottle in his free hand. “Ky, I kinda need my hand back.” 

Reluctantly, Kyle releases his hand. In gratitude, he offers him the first sip of his Coke. “You like this stuff better than I do.” 

The three of them share the Coke until Marissa pokes her head backstage and warns them there are five minutes until the second act. Thereupon, Jimmy leaves the last few mouthfuls of soda to Kyle. “We’ve gotta go get changed, and you need to go sit down.” 

Kyle flaps the hand that’s not holding onto his cane. “Now I get to say it! Break a leg, both of you. The second act is going to be great.” He gives both of them quick, one-armed hugs before hobbling for the door. “And Jimmy, I’m taking notes!” 

“I thought you were trying to help my anxiety!” Jimmy calls back. Even despite the playful taunt, his breathing is easier and the energy racing under his skin has all but dissipated. He feels prepared to face the audience another time. 

By the time the second act ends, he’s elated. Curtain call gives him a buzz that’s almost as good as a hit, and he leaves the stage feeling champagne-bubbly with joy. Kyle meets him by the stage door, alight with excitement. 

“Our show is on Broadway!” he squeaks. 

Jimmy pulls him into a tight hug. “We’re on Broadway!” he agrees. Never in a million years would he have foreseen that his songs and their edgy little play would get them here. It’s Kyle’s dream come true—and, if Jimmy is honest with himself, it’s his dream too. 

They hug until Kyle murmurs, “I need to breathe.” Reluctantly, Jimmy lets him go. As he does, he’s seized by the completely inappropriate urge to kiss him. Only the thought of how Kyle would take it—as pity or worse, cruelty—stops him. 

“You stayed awake,” Jimmy teases. “I’m impressed.”

Kyle tucks his free hand to his chest. “I…may have opted not to take my meds. I thought the pain would be better than this by now.”

Jimmy gapes at him. This is fundamentally Kyle—the same guy who fusses about a paper cut for hours will dismiss the pain of a fractured pelvis with a comment that it’s worse than he expected. “Go take your meds!” he orders. “I need to go change out of my costume, so you—go take your meds!”

“Okay,” Kyle promises. To Jimmy’s dismay, he then proceeds to stop no fewer than five times on his way to the door to congratulate various people. Jimmy is tempted to intervene, but the quicker he changes out of his costume, the quicker he can force Kyle to take his meds and leave.

By the time he’s dressed, Kyle has left the backstage area. Jimmy finds him in the theater collecting his blanket-cum-donut seat. “Did you take your meds?”

Kyle sighs and turns around with the blanket trailing over his shoulder. “Yes, I did.”

“Then we should go before you pass out on me again.” Jimmy loops an arm comfortably around his waist and steers him toward the door. “Come on.”

Light footfalls warn him to turn around just before Karen calls, “Jimmy! You aren’t staying to do signings?”

“Can’t.” He jerks his head at Kyle. “I’ve gotta get this guy home before he falls asleep.”

Kyle shoves at his shoulder. “I can wait twenty minutes! This is a big deal, okay? Go do the signing! You owe it to everyone who came tonight.”

“Dude, _you_ came tonight, and you need me a hell of a lot more than they do.” Jimmy turns back to Karen and says, “You got this. Go and give the people what they want.”

Vying with theatergoers for a cab must be one of the circles of hell. It doesn’t help that Kyle keeps gesturing for anyone else waiting to take the next cab. Eventually, Jimmy elbows aside a mother and son who look like they can bear to wait another few minutes and shoves Kyle into the cab. “Sit.”

“Jimmy.” Kyle purses his lips. “That was rude.”

“You’re in pain,” Jimmy insists. “They should let you go first, not the other way around.” 

By the time they reach the apartment, the medication has hit Kyle hard. He makes it to his bed before he falls asleep, but only just. Jimmy makes sure his cane and phone are in easy reach. “Hey, Ky? If you think you’ll be okay alone for a little bit, I’m gonna go down to the pier. I’ve got some stuff I wanna mull over.”

Kyle’s eyes open partway and he smiles. “It’s okay, I’ll be…hmm…out for a while…”

“Yeah.” Jimmy waits until his eyes fall closed again; then he turns on his heel and hurries out the door. Loath as he is to leave, he has too much to think through to stay at the apartment. The pier has always been the spot to clear his head. After an hour there, maybe things will make sense. 

Coming to the pier during the day is a game of chance: people might be there, or they might not. At night, though, it’s almost always empty, so he’s surprised to find himself with company. He's even more surprised to recognize the short haircut and stylish sweater. "Ana?" 

“Jimmy." She turns around, rests her elbows on the railing behind her, and regards him with a tilted head. Whatever she sees makes her instinctive animosity soften into pity. "You look like you need to brood just as much as I do. Come here." 

Jimmy skulks over to the railing. Rather than rest his arms on it the way Ana is, he hops up and swings his legs over the edge. He’d been sitting like this when he composed ‘Broadway Here I Come’—he remembers only because he’d sung the final verse aloud right as Kyle arrived at the pier. (He’d gotten a stern telling-off for taking risks, followed by insistent cuddling to ensure that he didn’t try to jump off the pier.) 

“So." Ana shifts around and resumes looking out over the dark water. "You already know what I'm angry about. Spill. What drove you out here to brood when you should be taking care of Kyle?" 

“Actually, that's the problem," Jimmy admits with a rueful laugh. He's by no means amused; the situation is simply so foreign to him that he can't fathom where to begin. "So I’m kinda…caught? I dunno. ‘Cause on the one hand, y'know, Karen…I thought I loved her, like really loved her, and I thought she loved me too, but—” He laughs. “I think I just loved this image of her I constructed more than I actually loved her.”

Ana snorts. “That’s been going around.”

“Yeah.” He looks down at the water rippling far below. The dim light from the street lamp plays across the waves, cresting and falling like a luminous sea creature. “And I know she deserves better, but part of me wants to give it another try—y’know, get to know her this time, rather than try to make her what I need.”

Ana rolls her eyes. “I told you, she wasn't thrilled with your behavior even before you guys broke up. If you try to drag her back into the weird codependent relationship you had before...”

“I know, I know.” Jimmy runs a hand through his hair. “You're right. But on the other hand..." He sighs and lets his head hang. "Kyle. And I know you told me he wants me and to just go with it, but I love him so fucking much. It’s different than how I feel about Karen, and it scares the hell out of me because I can’t lose him. I just can’t.” 

Ana scoffs, "You almost did. You wanna take that chance again?" Jimmy glares at her. She amends, "I don't mean the car accident, although that too. I mean he was going to kick you out, with good fucking reason. If you don't get your act together and tell him _something_, he might walk out again, and I would support him every step of the way. Physically, if he needed me to." 

"You’re sure?” Jimmy could be satisfied with this answer if he wasn’t so afraid of hurting Kyle worse than he already has. Not only would it free Karen to find someone who can see her rather than everything she can do for them, it would give Kyle what he’s always wanted. That doesn’t mean he can shake the insistent doubt at the back of his mind: ‘at what cost?’ 

“Yes, I'm sure." Ana's face contorts as though she's eaten a lemon. "And trust me, I'm giving you the advice I keep trying to give myself. So do what I can't and _listen to me."_

Jimmy almost asks who she's having trouble asking out, but she seems fairly eager to see the back of him. With a mutter of thanks, he turns and wanders toward the flat. He feels like he’s made the best possible decision, but the hardest part is yet to come: how to tell Kyle.


	8. Chapter 8

Jimmy keeps his peace throughout a hurried breakfast, a cab ride that turns into running lines, and their arrival at the theater. After that, there’s no time to speak to Kyle at all, much less take the time to explain everything he told Jack. 

After a performance that swings unpredictably between abysmal and stellar, an opportunity arises. Karen finds Jimmy after the show, phone in hand and a hesitant smile on her face. “Jimmy? Um, I was wondering if you and Kyle wanted to go out tonight. There’s an open mic at Table 46, and I promised Ana I’d go.” 

“Oh, right, it’s open mic night.” Jimmy shrugs on his shirt. He’d forgotten about Table 46’s open mic nights, held once every two months. They’re raucous, exuberant nights where a community of artists and performers support each other, test new work, and engage in friendly competition. He seldom worked those nights—the owner wanted servers with a slightly more cheerful disposition—but Kyle sometimes did. They left him abuzz with excitement and eager to work on _Hit List_, so Jimmy has some fondness for them. “Yeah, that sounds like fun. Lemme check with Kyle, though.” 

“Ana already did.” Karen grins. “He’s up for it if you are.”

“Oh.” He shouldn’t have expected any different. “Well, then, yeah. Let’s go.” 

Table 46 is packed to bursting by the time they get there. Onstage, a girl in red is belting out the last lines of “God Help the Outcasts.” 

“Oh!” Kyle presses against Jimmy’s side and whispers delightedly, “She’s amazing!” 

Ana taps Jimmy’s arm. “I’m gonna go sign up. Do you want me to get you a slot?” 

“Uh, if there are any left.” He scans the room for a booth where they might be able to sit. By now, all the booths and most of the tables are taken. There are a few open seats at the bar, but he doubts Kyle could maneuver a barstool. Instead, he steers them over to a table for four that’s within spitting distance of the mic. 

“This is a lot louder than I thought it would be,” Karen confides between performances. 

“This is tame!” Kyle sits down, twists around, and stares at the pair of boys striding onstage. “It’s usually so full it was hard to bus tables.”

Ana winds her way over to the table, flops down in the open seat, and sets her handbag on the table with a weary _ker-thunk._ “We’ve got the last two spaces,” she says, indicating herself and Jimmy. “It’s gonna be a late night.” 

Indeed it is. Jimmy hears music and dialogue, spoken word and poetry so absurd it elicits tears of laughter. The act before Ana’s appears to consist of only one performer, until she reaches the mic and pronounces, “Schöne, you have no idea how hard I worked to find this version of the song. Get up here and help me!” 

“Oh look, it’s us,” Ana confides to Karen in a whisper. Karen snorts into her drink and almost spills water all down her front. 

The two girls do a rendition of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s “Do I Love You Because You’re Beautiful?” When it comes time for the second verse, Jimmy sees why it would have taken some hunting to find this version—the second girl (Schöne, he assumes) signs rather than sings, so they need half of the vocal track. They’re so clearly singing to each other that Jimmy feels like an intruder. 

“Wow,” Ana says in the second between when the two girls walk offstage and when she goes on. “Nice to know that none of us will ever find a love like that.” 

“Don’t be pessimistic,” Karen chides her. Once Ana’s back is turned, she leans close to Kyle and whispers something that Jimmy suspects is “She might be right.”

Ana grabs the microphone with the same confidence she’d displayed during her impromptu audition. Jimmy sets his drink down on the table with an unnecessarily loud thud. She was the perfect Diva; even Derek had seen it once. How he could let her go to waste is beyond Jimmy’s comprehension. “So, before I sing, I’d just like to let everybody know that this will probably be my last time singing this song, which is a shame, because it’s probably my favorite piece of music that I’ve ever performed.” 

The disjointed opening chords of “Reach for Me” drift over the speakers. Ana’s voice breaks on the first line, but she recovers. Every line is a farewell—passionate, beautiful, and as raw as an open wound. By halfway through the first chorus, Jimmy is ready to stalk out of the restaurant, find the odious Jerry Rand, and threaten him with permanent damage if he fails to return the Diva to Ana at once. 

By the end of the song, her voice rasps and threatens to give out. Jimmy is the first to burst into applause when she finishes. He stands so abruptly that he jostles the table and claps until his hands feel sore. It’s nothing less than Ana deserves. 

When she returns to the table, there are tears in her eyes. “I didn’t think that would be as hard as it was.” 

Kyle reaches across the table and takes her hand. “We will get you the Diva back,” he promises. “I don’t know how, but we will.” 

Jimmy sneaks around Kyle’s chair, going up on tiptoe to avoid brushing against it or the chair behind his. Three steps bring him to the microphone. He bypasses it and strides over to the piano, which has been available the whole time but received little use. There’s a separate microphone set up to be easily accessible to the piano player. 

“Hi,” he says awkwardly into the microphone. “Um, I’m Jimmy, the guy that wrote the songs for _Hit List_. The song I’m gonna sing tonight isn’t my favorite that I’ve ever written, but it means a lot to me because of the guy I wrote it for. So Kyle, this one’s for you.” 

It’s been the better part of six months since he last played “Caught in the Storm” himself, rather than sang it with a backing track. He fumbles the first few notes, but after that, his fingers seem to remember the tune. When he sings, he keeps his voice low. For most of the song, he keeps his eyes on the piano, but as he reaches the penultimate line, he turns and locks eyes with Kyle. 

As soon as the last note ends, he flees the stage, feeling almost as exposed as he had the night Karen sang this same song in his flat. Kyle greets him with a quizzical expression. “What did you mean, you wrote that song for me?”

“And on that note, we’ll bid you two goodnight.” Ana lays a hand on Jimmy’s arm and whispers, “Good luck—you’re gonna need it.” 

“Uh…” Jimmy tugs Kyle to his feet. “Walk with me.”

At Kyle’s pace, they have plenty of time to talk. Jimmy confides in a low voice, “I mean I wrote that song about us, man. I didn’t know how else to tell you how I felt. It’s an apology and…” He hesitates. Jack’s warning about time flits through his mind and gives him the resolve he needs. If not for a trick of fate, he could have lost Kyle without having given him anything more than a song. “…and it was me trying to say that I love you, Ky. I always have. It just scared the hell out of me because you’re good and I’m…not. So I kept telling myself I didn’t.” 

Kyle stares at him with those wide eyes, caught between hope and distrust. “This is cruel,” he breathes. “Did Ana put you up to this? Did Karen?” 

Jimmy shakes his head. “This is all me. When I left you last night to go to the pier, this is what I needed to think about. ‘Cause I still love Karen, I think, but I can’t quite shake the perfect version of her I made in my head. With you, though, we’ve been the inseparable Jimmy-and-Kyle for years. I know you, and you know me, and I think the only thing we can do is get better.” 

They pause on this note to maneuver the stairs at the front of Table 46—no easy task, given that Kyle can only partially bend his knees. Jimmy helps him as much as he’ll permit. When at last they reach the sidewalk, Jimmy hails a cab. 

“So,” he tries once they’re safely bundled inside. “Uh, yeah. Do you want me to grovel? Because I’m not good at that, but I can try…”

Kyle stares at him. His weird blue eyes have gone hazy, like he’s seeing something through Jimmy rather than looking directly at him. “Love is a loaded word,” he says eventually. “Are you sure this isn’t guilt or something? I mean, I did just almost die…”

“No!” Jimmy clasps his hand. It’s freezing, so he pulls Kyle’s sweater sleeve down over it. “I’ve…man, I’ve loved you for years, but I kept telling myself you deserved better. And then Karen happened, and she was pretty special too—a lot like you—and then I almost lost you and I kinda realized that ‘deserves’ can go fuck itself.” 

Kyle shakes his head. “This is just a weird reaction to the accident. You don’t want me, you never did, and this is so sudden…”

Impulsively, Jimmy pulls him into a kiss. Kyle makes a sweet startled sound that only serves to deepen the kiss. Rather than go rigid as Jimmy expected, he relaxes into Jimmy’s hold. When they part, his eyes are hazy and his mouth is slack. “Oh.” 

“Yeah, ‘oh.’” Jimmy grins at him and traces a thumb over Kyle’s cheekbone. He’s gorgeous like this, too blissful to worry. Jimmy could have been doing this for years. “Still think this is a weird reaction to the accident?”

“Uh.” He shouldn’t have asked that—Kyle doesn’t need prompted to fret. Thankfully, the kiss seems to have rendered him temporarily unable to worry. “I, uh, that felt like…no?” 

The cab driver gives a polite cough. “Fellas? We’re at your destination. I mean, sounds like you got some stuff to work through, but maybe not in my cab?” 

“Right, yeah, sorry.” Jimmy fishes their fare out of his pocket and pays the driver before helping Kyle out the door. For once, he’s pliant and willing to be helped. (If this is the effect it has on him, Jimmy is going to kiss him more often.) “Thanks, man.”

The cab driver gives him a bright grin and confesses, “Know all about it. I got a guy of my own who’s about as high-strung as yours seems to be. Good luck.” 

Jimmy bites back his reflexive “Thanks, I’m gonna need it.” He doubts Kyle would be amused. Instead, he bids him a safe and productive drive and turns to get Kyle inside. “C’mon, man.”

By the time they get through the door, the shock of the kiss has worn off and Kyle has returned to fretting. “I imagined that,” he’s mumbling to himself. “My meds were kicking in, I was almost asleep. Nothing happened.”

Jimmy raises his eyebrows. “No, man, I’m pretty sure I kissed you.” 

Kyle gapes at him. Taking his eyes off the floor is a mistake; his cane catches in the edge of the rug, and the next thing either of them knows, they’re on the floor. Somehow, with a presence of mind Jimmy didn’t know he possessed, he twists them so that Kyle lands on top. Unfortunately, this means that they’re pressed unavoidably close, Kyle’s panicked eyes mere inches away from Jimmy’s. 

“I’m so sorry…” 

What might have turned into babbling trails away, breathless and dizzy. Despite his best efforts, Jimmy’s eyes flick down to Kyle’s lips. They’re so close that Kyle’s exhalations fan across Jimmy’s lips, warm and humid. The smallest accidental flinch and they would be kissing, and Jimmy can’t remember the last time he was this tempted by anything except a hit. 

“Okay.” His voice comes out a little lower than he means it to. “You need to be in bed.”

Kyle nods, slack-jawed as though Jimmy has just woken him out of a trance. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Bed, right.” 

Jimmy helps Kyle to bed. As much as he wants to flee to his loft, he forces himself to stay and ask, “Ky, did I just fuck everything up?”

“Uh…no. No, not fucked up, just…I just need to process.” Judging by the wild, half-focused look in his eyes, he’s still stuck on the kiss in the cab or the almost-kiss after the fall. Jimmy wants an answer immediately, but he’s learned the hard way what happens when Kyle is pressed for more than he’s ready to give. (Panic. Panic happens, and rambling, and sometimes anger.) 

“Okay.” He quashes the fear that Kyle has suddenly realized that a relationship between them would be the worst decision they’ve ever made. “Get some sleep, man. We gotta be up early tomorrow.” 

“Right, begging Jerry about Ana.” Kyle turns onto his side and curls his hands beneath his chin. “I’m ready.”

“Good, because you’re my secret weapon.” Jimmy doubts that even Jerry Rand will be able to withstand the full force of Kyle’s puppy eyes. At the last second, he changes an “I love you” into “’Night, Ky.”

“’Night,” Kyle murmurs. His soft, whiffling snores fill the apartment by the time Jimmy reaches the stairs to the loft.


	9. Chapter 9

Convincing Jerry goes poorly. Convincing Derek is even worse. 

“And what would you have me do?” Jimmy has finally managed to provoke Derek into genuine rage—not sarcasm, not biting wit, but unfettered anger. This he can handle. Anger burns out; he just has to endure. “If I force Daisy out, she’ll ruin me. Your little play will be dragged down with me.”

“Then Ana will file a wrongful termination suit.” Kyle speaks with surprising conviction, given how badly he reacts to most arguments. Working out a rudimentary script with Jimmy, Ana, and Karen probably helped. “Your reputation will be ruined either way.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Derek runs both hands through his shaggy hair. “All Ana’s got are guesses. Yeah, if she files, I imagine Jerry will have to pay some kind of settlement, and I’ll get slapped on the wrist like I always do, but she’s not telling anyone anything they won’t have already guessed. If Daisy leaks that tape, my career is over.” When Jimmy and Kyle glower at him, he erupts, “There’s nothing I can do! If word of this gets out, Daisy will be the victim. Never mind the blackmail, never mind Ana, obviously Daisy is the victim, because every story has to be that fucking clear-cut!”

“What about the false assault allegations?” Kyle asks. There’s a hint of desperation in his tone now. “She’s willing to do anything to get a role, can’t you—?”

Derek scoffs. “Unless I get _her_ on tape talking about how she lied about the harassment charges and how she set me up to blackmail me for a job, no. No one is going to believe that there might be anything to the story other than a man abusing his power and a hapless woman taking whatever opportunities she was given.” 

At that, Jimmy can’t contain a harsh laugh. “Y’know, you treat me like the scum of the earth for having a drug problem, but look at the shit you get yourself into.”

“Look, I’m sorry about Ana, all right?” He directs this mostly to Kyle, who balls his fists in his sweater sleeves. “I really am. But there’s no way to fix this.”

When they report this to Ana, she scoffs and lets her head hang. “Yeah,” she says. Bitterness laces every word. “I figured. Thanks for trying—both of you.”

Kyle pulls her into a hug. “This isn’t over,” he insists. “You can go back to being Jesse’s sister. Jimmy can write you a song, and you can—”

She shakes her head. “I love Hit List, I do. But I can’t go up onstage every night knowing that Derek gave away my part to save his ass.”

“So what will you do?” Karen, who’s listened with disgust creasing her features, steps forward and wraps her arm around Ana’s shoulders. Ana leans her head against Karen’s neck. 

“Look for a new job, I guess.” She shakes her head, her spiky hair fanning against Karen’s jaw. “At least now I know I can handle a main role, right?” 

“We’ll talk you up,” Kyle offers. 

Jimmy arches an eyebrow. He hates quashing Kyle’s enthusiasm, but he feels he has to point out, “We don’t know anybody, unless you count Scott.” 

“We know Richard Francis!” Kyle suggests. “And he loves you, Ana, he adored you as the Diva. If you find a part, he’d write you a glowing review, I’m sure of it.” 

When she says, “You’re sweet,” it sounds a lot like resignation.

***

The salt in the wound comes a little under a month later, when the Tony campaign begins. Per Derek and Jerry, the key to securing Tony votes is publicity. This means that any spare second of the day not filled with rehearsals or performances is occupied by interviews for newspapers and magazines. Jimmy has avoided all of them, both by his own preference and Derek’s behest, but he’s lurked near enough to hear Kyle fumble through a newspaper interview and, horrifyingly, Daisy charm a reporter.

“Oh no.” By now, Jerry and Derek should be accustomed to his interruptions. Jimmy doesn’t pause to knock; he bursts into Jerry’s office without a thought for what he might disturb. “I’ve put up with a lot of shit, but we are _not_ letting Daisy get a Tony nomination.”

“Mr. Collins,” Derek drawls. He doesn’t even glance up from the Tony campaign material. Newspapers with reviews are piled in haphazard stacks, some of their pages cut and torn in search of ad-worthy quotes. “You assume I have any control over the whims of the nomination committee.” 

“Of course not!” Jimmy might be new to theater, but he’s not naïve. “But she shouldn’t be chatting up newspaper reporters, getting pieces written up about her—”

“Jimmy.” Jerry leans against the table, a patronizing smile on his face as though he’s talking to a small child. Dual urges flash through him: to bring the heel of his hand up against Jerry’s nose hard and fast, or to elbow past him, seize the tumbler of scotch off the table, and down it. He thinks he shows remarkable restraint by clenching his fists until his nails break skin. “Tony nominators want a full view of any play in the running. That includes stories about all the leads. At some point, even you will have to rise above your unfortunate lack of social graces and submit to an interview.” 

This is so horrifying that all thoughts of Daisy are temporarily wiped from Jimmy’s mind. “No. No. If _Hit List_ can’t speak for itself, it doesn’t deserve Tonys. My ‘story’ is not something that needs to be—making me talk isn’t gonna get you nominations.” 

“Then I guess you’ll have to hope your better half is eloquent enough for both of you,” Derek proclaims. He still hasn’t looked up from the campaign material. Since their clash over Daisy, he’s barely spoken to Jimmy outside of rehearsals. If it was anyone other than Derek, Jimmy might almost believe he felt guilty. 

An idea sparks behind Jerry’s beady eyes. Jimmy doesn’t like that even a little bit. “That isn’t a bad idea.” 

If there was any chance of a good outcome for this encounter, what follows isn’t it. Not only is Daisy free to speak to reporters as she pleases, Jimmy is forced into an interview with none other than the unpleasant Michael Riedel. Left to his own devices, he would surely commit career suicide. Thankfully, Kyle is with him. 

“As I understand it,” Riedel says, “this is an uncommon honor, speaking to both halves of this partnership at once.” 

Kyle offers his most disarming grin. “I guess so, yeah. Jimmy’s been so busy with rehearsals he’s barely found time to talk to me.”

“Yet you’ve done other interviews,” Riedel probes. 

“I’m at loose ends for the moment.” Hidden by the table, Kyle nudges his hand against Jimmy’s. Instinctively, he intertwines their fingers. “It’s a little late to make changes to the book. Jimmy just likes to keep me close because…” He trails off. Riedel’s expression changes; he looks like a shark that’s scented blood. 

“You’re still recovering from that tragic accident, is that right?”

Kyle nods. He’s just opened his mouth to speak when Jimmy interjects, “That’s not news. He’s mostly better now.” 

“You’re right, of course.” Riedel inclines his head to Jimmy. His concession doesn’t put Jimmy at ease; if anything, it makes him more nervous. “Old news. No, I’m here to get the scoop on your partnership. Some have suggested you’re the next Houston and Levitt, although that is perhaps no longer a good thing since their very public dissolution. As I understand it, the two of you have worked with Julia Houston—how accurate do you feel that comparison is?”

Jimmy glances sideways at Kyle. He’s hardly Julia’s biggest fan, but Kyle got along well with her. (There’s no need to mention Tom to Riedel; Kyle’s involvement with him would only stir up unneeded gossip.)

“Julia is phenomenal,” Kyle says without hesitation. “Like you said, we’re a new act, and she’s a Broadway veteran. I learned so much from working with her.”

“And you, Jimmy?” Riedel turns his unsettling gaze on Jimmy. “I’ve heard tell you write all your own lyrics. Was it beneficial to work with another lyricist?” 

“I didn’t see that much of her.” Under the table, Kyle gives his hand a reproachful squeeze. Jimmy tries in vain to come up with something complimentary to say about Julia. “She seemed to think the songs were okay. And, hey, I don’t write all my own lyrics. Kyle helps.” 

Riedel tilts his head. “How long have the two of you worked on _Hit List_?”

They exchange a glance. Jimmy would say their work began with ‘Broadway Here I Come,’ the first song he wrote for _Hit List_, but Kyle had an idea of the storyline before that. “High school?” he ventures. 

“Sophomore year,” Kyle agrees. 

His certainty draws raised eyebrows from Riedel. “You seem quite confident of that.”

“The characters got their names in sophomore year.” Inexplicably, Kyle drops his gaze to the tabletop. Jimmy is about to ask why that’s embarrassing when he remembers the only Amanda he knew sophomore year: Amanda Burns, with whom he'd gotten caught behind the school. He only barely bites back a laugh and a shocked, “You were so pissed that you wrote her into our play?” 

“I forgot about that,” he says simply. The implications must be clear to Kyle, because he turns a delicate shade of pink. Riedel glances between them. It’s clear from his expression that he knows there’s more to the story, but thankfully, he doesn’t press. 

“A long time in the making, then.” Riedel adjusts his recorder. Jimmy eyes it uneasily. “What inspired you?”

Without thinking, Jimmy blurts, “He did.” Kyle’s pink cheeks turn a shocking shade of red and he lets go of Jimmy’s hand as though he’s been burned. Jimmy babbles what he hopes is sufficient explanation. “I mean, he’s the idea guy. The initial storyline was his. I just kinda chose the parts I liked and made songs out of them, and it was…what, right about the time we moved in together? Anyway, it was a couple of years before we looked at what we had and realized we had a real musical with, like, a plot and everything.”

“And what inspired that storyline, Kyle?” Riedel prompts. 

Now that Jimmy has pieced together where Amanda’s name came from, he has a suspicion that the true answer is ‘spite.’ Kyle is more tactful. “I was one of those kids who was always daydreaming. And I mean, I was obsessed with Broadway from a young age, but all of the stories seemed so—clean, I guess? None of them reflected the area where we grew up, the drugs and the desire to escape, and…yeah.” He leans toward Jimmy. “And I started imagining my ideal play, and _Hit List_ just sort of happened.” 

“Many people would say Broadway is rife with dark stories,” Riedel coaxes. “_Rent_, for example. _Newsies, Cats, Spring Awakening_…just to name a few.”

Kyle nods. “I know, and they all cover something different, but none of them felt true to us.” Jimmy nods his agreement, although he knows so little about Broadway that Riedel might as well have been speaking Norwegian. “So that’s what _Hit List_ was really about, making something that felt authentic to us.” 

It’s more authentic than Riedel can know—possibly more than Kyle knows. Many of the earliest songs were Jimmy’s attempts to vent his complicated feelings for Kyle. This is particularly amusing if, as he suspects, the plot was Kyle’s attempt to make sense of his feelings for Jimmy. 

“May I return to an earlier comment?” Riedel asks. “Jimmy, you said the two of you ‘moved in together.’ As roommates? To facilitate writing the play?”

Jimmy shrugs. “Nah, we didn’t have the play in mind when we did it. Made things easier, though.” He lost count of the number of nights they stayed up late, acting out scenes or writing songs until they were too sleepy to see straight. They might not have some of their best scenes if they’d been living separately. “We just, we’ve been friends since forever. I sure didn’t want anyone else as my roommate.” 

Riedel quirks an eyebrow at them. “And there’s nothing more?” When both of them stay stonily silent, he forges on. “It would be, if you’ll pardon the pun, bombshell news. The brightest new partnership on Broadway—not just longtime friends, but lovers.”

“Okay.” Jimmy leaps to his feet. He’d consented to talk about _Hit List_. The new-budding thing between them is only tangentially relevant to the show. “Nope.”

He’s halfway out the door before he hears Riedel say, chuckling softly, “I’ll interpret that as ‘no comment,’ shall I?” 

Word of this debacle must reach Derek and Jerry somehow, because thereafter, Jimmy is kept as far away from reporters as the theater permits.

***

It’s worth it in the end, though, because Hit List—their tiny, messy dream of a show—is nominated for so many Tonys that Jimmy loses count. They watch the nominations with Karen and Ana. Kyle stops on the way for a six-pack of beer and a few tubs of ice cream, and it’s a celebration and a consolation. Ana flings an empty ice cream tub when Daisy is nominated for Best Featured Actress. Jimmy tells her she deserves to.

(He’s vaguely ashamed of himself for pulling Kyle into a sloppy kiss when Kyle is nominated for a Tony. There’s certainly no complaints from Kyle, who makes a muffled happy sound into the kiss, but Karen shoots them a sideways look that makes him feel like a small child caught doing something naughty.) 

There’s no kiss when Jimmy is nominated, only teasing. “After that interview with Michael Riedel?” Kyle laughs. “I thought they were more likely to ban you from the Tonys than nominate you!”

“It was that bad?” The prospect of Jimmy humiliating himself cheers Ana up more than a tub of ice cream. She glances at Kyle with gleaming eyes, and he hurries to assure her, 

“Yep! I mean, for Jimmy, he was civil, but then we got asked kind of a personal question and he left. Quite rudely,” Kyle adds. By the smile on his face, he hadn’t been displeased by Jimmy’s hasty exit. Hopefully it had spared him having to answer Riedel’s question. 

Ana snorts. Karen gives Jimmy a sympathetic smile. “You’re an actor now. Personal questions come with the territory.”

“Oh, whoa, no, I am not an actor,” he says. “I’m a composer who happened to get drafted into playing a part. See?” He indicates the screen, although the announcer has moved on to another category. “I’m nominated for my songs, not my acting.”

Ana mumbles something that’s probably “At least you got nominated.” Once again, the unfairness of her situation rankles. Jimmy wishes there was a way to fix it, but short of bribing the judges to replace Daisy’s nomination with one for Ana, they’re out of options.


	10. Chapter 10

The night of the Tony awards ceremony, Jimmy struggles into a penguin suit, then helps Kyle with his. It’s been several weeks since the accident, and although the pain is nearly gone (Kyle swore off his pain meds two weeks ago), the stiffness remains. 

“You look good.” Jimmy smooths his hands over Kyle’s lapels. He means it to be reassuring, but it ends up possessive. (There’s no denying he does feel possessive. Kyle is always pretty, but all dressed up like this, he’s breathtaking. Someone’s going to notice, and that someone is going to meet the business end of Jimmy’s fist if they don’t steer clear.) 

“I feel silly.” 

“Join the club.” Jimmy feels absurd in his penguin suit. He’s never needed to dress up before; wearing such a nice outfit makes him feel inauthentic and vaguely unworthy. 

“You don’t look silly,” Kyle babbles. “You look nice, really nice. I mean, everyone from _Hit List_ will know that you’re secretly a flannel-loving—” 

“Finish that sentence, I dare you.” There’s no real threat and Kyle knows it. Jimmy heads him off before he can take the dare. “Anyway, you can talk, you and your cozy sweaters…”

“I make cozy sweaters a fashion statement,” Kyle sniffs. He’s playing haughty, but there’s a glimmer of a grin in his big eyes. “You dress like a reject from The Outsiders.” 

Any other time, such a proclamation would have provoked a tussle that would probably end with Jimmy pinning Kyle to the floor, or the sofa, or the nearest wall. It’s all in fun (usually), but it’s rough fun, and he doesn’t dare start anything when they’re dressed so nicely. “You dress like a grandpa who has five cats and lives in his library. Come on, we’re gonna be late.” 

They arrive at Karen and Ana’s flat to find Ana in the middle of having her makeup done. Karen confides in a low voice, “She thought she wasn’t coming, as though I didn’t reserve her a ticket ages ago.” 

“Uh.” Jimmy isn’t sure what to say to this. Rather than answer, he nods at Karen’s impeccably smooth bun and lavender dress. “You look pretty.” 

She ducks her head and raises one hand to push her hair behind her ear. On realizing that none of her hair is loose, she rubs the back of her neck. “Thanks. You look good, too.” 

Ana jumps to her feet. Unlike Karen, who looks soft and dreamy, Ana is in sunset orange and has her short hair in elegant curls. She’ll catch everyone’s eye at the Tonys, which, Jimmy supposes, is the idea. She may not be able to win a Tony, but she can upstage Daisy every chance she gets. 

“You look amazing.” Kyle shuffles forward and pulls Ana into a careful hug. 

“Thanks to these guys.” She nods at the makeup crew. Jimmy doesn’t know them, but Kyle beams at them as though they’re dear friends. “Now come on, I’m not making us late to the Tonys.”

Jimmy knew it would be crowded. That knowledge in no way prepares him for the throng outside the theater: actors, directors, reporters, and cameramen jostle for space and shout at each other. Karen and Ana stop for pictures, but Jimmy begs leave to take Kyle inside. 

“You know I’m as healed as I’m going to get, right?” Kyle murmurs as they brave the stairs. “You don’t need to coddle me.” 

“I know.” Jimmy links his arm with Kyle’s and helps him up the first few steps. “But you really want me talking to reporters?”

Kyle winces. “No, you’re right. I don’t.” 

They take their seats without difficulty. At Jimmy’s behest, Kyle takes the aisle seat. “If you win, you’re gonna want to be able to get up easily,” Jimmy reasons. 

“Shush, don’t get my hopes up!” Kyle swats at him. “I don’t have a chance. They only nominated me out of pity.” 

Jimmy resists the urge to kiss him. It’s an effective way to stop his babbling, but he’s not sure he’s ready to out himself so publicly. 

While they wait for Karen and Ana to join them, Jimmy is treated to Kyle’s enthusiastic commentary of everyone around them. He mostly tunes it out, but there’s no ignoring Kyle’s eager “Julia!” or the warm smile Julia turns on both of them. The man beside her—Tom Levitt, presumably—coughs and tries to duck away. Jimmy gets to his feet, grabs Tom by the wrist, and scoots around Kyle and Julia. 

“Jimmy—” Kyle protests halfheartedly. Jimmy ignores him, electing instead to steer Tom down the aisle. 

“So you’re the guy who told Kyle you didn’t want him after he got hit by a car?” 

Tom shoots a nervous glance over Jimmy’s shoulder. He has a remarkably punchable face, Jimmy considers, but the Tony awards ceremony isn’t the right venue for a fight. “I—no, I didn’t—did he tell you I said that?” Tom’s slightly protuberant eyes look wounded. 

“No, he said he told you he’d be a pretty poor booty call given that he broke his ass, and you didn’t tell him no.” 

Tom heaves a sigh. “No,” he admits. “I didn’t. I should have. Kyle was…he was pretty special to me.”

“You knew him for like a week,” Jimmy points out. 

He’d be happier if Tom got angry at him, but he just sighs again. “That’s why I didn’t fight when he told me to put my show first. I should have, but—you’re his partner, right? Jimmy?” 

The question, and Tom’s keen glance, seems to come out of left field. Jimmy nods, feeling wrong-footed. 

“I got the impression he was telling me to put my play first because he wanted to put his first,” Tom admits. “Or…maybe he wanted to put you first?” 

It’s more insight than Jimmy wants from a stranger, and he entertains the notion that Kyle might have discussed him during one of the three or four nights he was with Tom. The correct answer would be something to the effect of “Yeah, he did, because he’s Kyle and that’s what he does and I kinda wish, for once, he’d look after himself.” That seems too revealing, so Jimmy backs away with a muttered, “Good luck.” 

He passes Julia on the way back to his seat. They bid each other good luck, although she makes no move to hug him as she had Kyle. He takes his seat again with a sigh of relief. 

“Tell me you didn’t just corner him because I slept with him?” Kyle pleads. 

“I cornered him because you were hurt and he dumped you.” There’s no real heat to Jimmy’s words. Tom might be thoughtless, but he’d sounded as though he did what he thought Kyle wanted. That’s something Jimmy can appreciate. 

“Oh, Jimmy, he’s so sweet.” Kyle clasps his hand. “He was so good to me. I don’t blame him.”

Jimmy is spared having to answer by the arrival of Karen and Ana, who are both flushed and giddy. “You should have seen Daisy!” Ana crows. “She must have thought I wouldn’t come, she looked sick when she saw me.” 

“As she should.” Karen squeezes Ana’s hand. “Now let’s hope she doesn’t win. That would really ruin her night.”

Unfortunately, win she does. Jimmy and Karen both wrap their arms around Ana, and all four of them glower at Daisy as she goes by. Kyle twitches his cane as though he intends to stick it in her path.

“Dude, don’t,” Jimmy mutters under his breath. “Petty isn’t a good look on you. It’s more my thing.” 

They do their utmost to tune out Daisy’s speech. Jimmy hums ‘Broadway Here I Come’ under his breath and is amused when the other three join in. 

“And now, Tony award winner Ron Rifkin.” 

Kyle happy-claps so hard he topples against Jimmy’s shoulder. Jimmy catches him and murmurs, “You’re such a fanboy it’s embarrassing.” 

Onstage, the announcer clears his throat. “The nominees for Best Book of a Musical are—”

“Oh.” Beside him, Kyle shivers. Jimmy squeezes his shoulders. “This is your category.”

“I’m not going to win,” Kyle murmurs. “They only nominated me because I’m pathetic, there’s no way they’ll let me win out of sympathy…”

“Dude, have you even watched our show?” Jimmy has. Kyle and Karen bullied him into it one night when he was too ill to sing, and what he saw astonished him. “We’re _really good._ If you win that Tony, you’re gonna deserve it.” 

“Kyle Bishop, _Hit List_.” 

“Huh?” Both of them look around upon hearing Kyle’s name. Ana reaches across Jimmy’s lap to swat at Kyle. 

“You won!” 

Jimmy bolts out of his seat, tugs Kyle upright, and pulls him into a hug. Kyle squeaks, flails, and drops his cane. “Oh my God, okay. Uh, I don’t have a speech—Jimmy, what do I do, I don’t have a speech…”

“Wing it!” Ana hisses at him. 

“I can’t wing it!” Kyle struggles to bend over. Jimmy kneels down, retrieves his fallen cane, and presses it into his hand. “You’ve heard me talk, I can’t wing it…”

“Dude, go, or we’re gonna be here all night watching you do those stairs.” Jimmy pushes him down the aisle. Reluctantly, Kyle stumbles down to the stage. The audience’s clapping dies away when he reaches the stairs onto the stage, and as he struggles up the steps, Jimmy is fairly sure he hears someone laugh. 

Kyle is too overwhelmed by his good fortune to show any pain—if he feels any, Jimmy doubts he’s processing it. As soon as he’s onstage, he shuffles blithely forward and accepts the award from the announcer.

“Um.” He braces himself against the podium somewhat awkwardly. He keeps his cane in his hand but sets the award down so that he can brace the other hand flat on the podium. “I, uh, I didn’t think I’d win, I thought this was a pity nomination.”

Jimmy buries his face in his hands. Leave it to Kyle to admit that onstage in front of the voting committee and every important person on Broadway. 

“Um, okay. I have to thank Karen Cartwright, for finding us—Jimmy and me—for believing in us, and for bullying Derek into working with us.” This is greeted with scattered laughter. “Derek, thank you. I know you said coming to _Hit List_ was like going back to high school, but you stuck with it, so thank you. Um, Julia Houston—Julia, thank you so much. You had your own show, but you took the time to take a novice under your wing, and I owe so much of what _Hit List_ has become to your guidance. Ana Vargas, our first Diva, our muse for the character—without you, the Diva wouldn’t be who she is, thank you. And, um.” Kyle blushes. “I can’t not thank my partner, who’s been with me and with Hit List since it was two characters and a single scene. Jimmy, you truly are a friend without peer.”

Only the cast who were present for the pier-building debacle at the Manhattan Theater Workshop understand the joke, but all of them give such a guffaw that the rest of the audience can’t help but laugh. 

“Uh, thank you, everybody.” Kyle gives a bashful wave, rocks side to side, and almost walks offstage without his award. The announcer presses it into his hand and guides him into the wings. Jimmy is left with the feeling that for an impromptu presentation, it was a decently good one. 

Immediately thereafter, Jimmy loses Best Original Score to Tom and Julia. He pastes a smile on his face and puts on his best indifferent air, but in truth, the loss stings. 

“Hey.” Karen reaches across Ana’s lap to squeeze his hand. “Sorry.”

“Nah.” The false cheer in his voice must be a bit too strong, because Karen frowns sympathetically. “I told you, I know I’m good. I don’t need a Tony to prove it.” 

“Maybe not,” she agrees, “but it’s always nice to be recognized.”

He turns his attention back to the announcer. If he puts on a good enough show of carelessness, he might convince himself. 

Derek wins Best Choreography—no surprise, given that he’s nominated twice. He’s awarded for _Hit List_, not _Bombshell_, about which Jimmy has mixed feelings. Their show is amazing, but having watched _Bombshell_ on its opening night, Jimmy knows how eye-catching its choreography was. (Perhaps points were removed for the raunchiness of ‘National Pastime.’ Given Derek’s reputation and the audience’s decidedly lukewarm reaction to his win, this is perfectly plausible.) 

It isn’t long after Derek’s win that he reappears, unbidden and unexpected, at Jimmy’s side. “Jimmy, Karen, Ana. Come with me.”

Jimmy clambers to his feet. Ana breathes, “What are you doing?”

Derek leads them up the red-carpeted stairs. “Making it right.” 

This is as enigmatic a sentence as Derek has ever uttered, but Jimmy thinks he understands. He fights to keep the smile off his face as they leave the theater and circle around to the stage door. 

“You all know ‘Broadway Here I Come,’” Derek says once they’re away from the cameras. “Do you know it well enough to do it acapella?” 

Jimmy exchanges a look with Karen and Ana. “Uh, yeah. I could do that song in my sleep.” (Kyle says he has, once or twice, but that’s not relevant at the moment.) 

“Good.” Derek holds the door for them. “Because I doubt the orchestra will be thrilled with my change of plan.”

When they arrive in the wings, Sam is waiting for them, as are Lexi and the other dancers. To Jimmy’s delight, Kyle is there too, leaning against a wall and grinning from ear to ear. Derek slips away, and in his absence, they make a plan. 

“Obviously Karen has to go on first,” Kyle says. “She’s the face of _Hit List_. And then Jimmy…”

“And you,” Jimmy insists. Kyle tilts his head. His expression is so blank that Jimmy knows instantly he hadn’t planned on joining them. “I want you out there with me. Plus, you’ve always supported me. Let me support you—literally.” 

“And then Sam and Ana.” Karen wraps her arm around Ana’s shoulders. “And then the rest of the cast.” 

“Perfect.” Derek reappears. Daisy stalks past him, dressed in the Diva’s ‘Reach for Me’ outfit and scowling murderously. From onstage, they hear someone say, 

“And now, Daisy Parker from _Hit List_, performing ‘Reach for Me.’” 

“Uh, looks like someone forgot to tell the announcer.” Jimmy eyes Derek with new respect. Unless he’s much mistaken, Derek’s refusal to permit Daisy onstage is the start of a broader turnaround for the show, one that might end with Ana reinstated as the Diva. 

Karen steps onstage first, singing the opening lines acapella. Jimmy coaxes Kyle’s arm around his shoulders and wraps an arm securely around his waist. “Together?” he murmurs. 

“Together,” Kyle agrees. As one, and slowly, they step onstage. It’s been a long time since they’ve sung together, but their voices meld as well now as they did when it was just the two of them singing Hit List songs at one in the morning. 

“Now I’m fallin’, baby, through the sky, through the sky, I’m fallin’, baby, through the sky / It’s my callin’, baby, don’t you cry, don’t you cry, I’m fallin’ down through the sky.” 

Karen joins them for “Toward the street that I’m from,” and they finish the first chorus together. An unplanned but stirring rhythm of clapping joins their words, and when Jimmy looks around, Ana and Sam are already onstage. 

With one arm around Kyle, Jimmy can’t join the rhythm of seven that Ana and Sam have started. He doesn’t mind; the beat is strong enough without him. He can’t take his eyes from his castmates, who look less like they’re performing in front of the most important crowd of their lives and more like they’re singing for pure joy. At his side, Kyle is radiant. 

The song ends with a triumphant flourish, and the lights go out. The audience erupts into slightly stunned applause. Jimmy’s head spins as though he’s high. He hasn’t felt this giddy since detoxing, and without thinking, he pulls Kyle into a kiss. Behind him, the lights flare to life. He knows they’re being watched, knows he’s just outed them both to the entirety of Broadway, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

“Uh.” Kyle breaks away. His pupils are blown wide—he’s as high on the song and the kiss as Jimmy is. “Offstage. Now.”

“Bossy,” Jimmy teases, but he goes. 

It ends with him getting pinned against a wall backstage and kissed stupid, so he can’t say he minds. For their first awards ceremony, it was better than Jimmy could have dreamed.


End file.
